Stormpaw's Deadly Rage
by Kurai Tenshi
Summary: Stormpaw's a young otter who's entire family was slaughtered by vermin, so she goes ashore to seek revenge. I've messed up the timeline a bit, though. Oh, and for all of you who have read this already, read it again--I changed it a bit.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer_: I am not Brian Jacques, mind you. So I don't own Redwall. I do own Stormpaw, Painttail, Lunkin, Maybell, Niklur and other characters one hasn't heard of yet in the Redwall series. Oh, and I read _Mariel of Redwall _after I started writing this and found out Runn is actually one of the characters, but the Runn in the story is different, okay? 

_Author's Note_: For those who have read this already—I changed it. It's not so bloody and Stormpaw's not a freakish Bloodwrathy (is that a word?) otter anymore. But I'll stop there—I don't want to spoil the surprise for anyone who has not read this story yet :)

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Chapter One

Stormpaw Swiftwater was a quaint young otter. She had grown up on Ruddaring Isle, where she was born, before a pirate stoat came and slew her whole family. Her mother, the infamous Grath Longfletch, threw her into the ocean. Her mother was a fine warrior, and so was her father, Inbar Trueflight, Chieftain of Ruddaring Isle. They had given her a bow and a quiver of arrows for her third birthday, and shortly after that, her father had made her a sword of a mysterious metal that had washed up on the shore. The handle was carved out of whalebone, and engraved in its side was the phrase, "Stormpaw's Deadly Rage."

            Unfortunately, this sword was no match for the hordes of vermin attacking the isle eight seasons after Stormpaw was out of infancy. Grath and Inbar had to save their daughter's life in any possible way, and their last hope was the most dangerous: they placed her in a water-tight basket and sent her southeast, towards the mainland—but not before placing a few things in it that they knew their daughter would need. In the basket along with Stormpaw, they placed her sword, with was as long as her body, her bow, her quiver of arrows, some food and fresh water to last her a few days, and the traditional otter sling and stone pouch.

            The young otter had awakened after some sleep on the morn of the second day in the basket. She knew she had landed on the mainland shore, or somewhere like it, close to a mountain, taller than the others of its range, at the edge of a dense forest.

            Stormpaw lifted the lid of the large basket, sword sheathed across her back. Her sling and stone pouch were secure at her belt.

            Stormpaw dragged the basket safely above the tide line, then shouldered her quiver and took up her bow. Covering the basket with shore plants, Stormpaw listened to anything unusual from her surroundings.

            Satisfied that her transport was safe and her weapons were loaded, Stormpaw gathered her food and placed it in a haversack. Shouldering the haversack, the young female otter ventured past the tall mountain and started northwards, an arrow notched in her bow.

Redwall Abbey was alive and busy. Abbess Songbreeze had grown five seasons older since the Marlfox incident, and she and Dannflor Reguba had married and had born a son, Niklur. The young squirrel was now Champion of Redwall, and he was a responsible young beast, too. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't have fun…

            "Yahoo! Sail her, Skip, sail!" Niklur, more commonly called Nik, exclaimed. He watched as Skipper of Otters let go of a small handmade raft with a single square sail. Nik clung tightly to the main mast as the breeze tauted the canvas sail.

            "'Old on tight, Nik! Yeh never know what'll 'appen if'n the breeze changes course!" Skipper called to the young male squirrel. "Steady there, mate…that's it! Now bring the line 'ere! Turn nice an' easy…there yeh are…yore doin' great there, liddle mate!"

            Nik turned the sail as the breeze shifted a bit, giving the canvas full wind. Nik was a seafaring squirrel, but couldn't leave the Abbey in case something happened. Still, he and his friend could always work at the river.

            "Yore back's t'the wind, Nik! That's good! Now keep at it…whoa! Steady there, Nik…that's the stuff…an' bring 'er 'ere…"

            Nik pulled on the sail line and tightened it around the mast wheel. Then, listening to Skipper's directions used a long pole to push of the left bank. The breeze had changed again, and Nik turned the sail with the line.

            "Hoho! You're doin' great!" Skip acknowledged.

            "All thanks to your advice, Skip," Nik called to his otter friend. "I bet nobeast could sail half as better than you do!"

            Skipper chuckled. "Nah. I ain't that sort o' creature."

            _Bing! Bong! Bing! Bong!_

            Nik steered his craft to the shore and dragged it away from the river's edge. Then he and Skipper entered the red stone Abbey. Today was a joyous day, really. It was Skipper's promotion to otter Chieftain after the previous Skipper had died, and it was also Nik's birthday. Nik was now nine seasons after infancy, and today he'd be considered a fully-grown adult.

            "It's great to have any day your birthday, right, Skip?" Nik asked as the two entered Great Hall.

            "Aye, 'tis! And 'tis not only yore birthday, but yore promotion, too! Lookit me, I'm shakin' all over wi' joy! I'm a Chieftain, Nik, an' I'm proud o' meself," Skipper replied.

            "Hah! I'm proud of meself too: I'm Redwall Champion, you see."

            "I know that. Still, even if yore Champion, that doesn't mean I don't 'ave two weeks of seniority o'er yeh!"

            "Just coz you're two weeks older than me doesn't mean you can bully me around, though! Hahahaha!"

            "Like I would?"

            "Sure you would!"

            Skipper gave Nik a playful shove, almost knocking the squirrel off his footpaws. Both are the best of friends, ever since they were born. The two have grown together at Redwall Abbey, and nothing can stop the friends when their warrior blood gets roused!

            A mole Dibbun ran up to the two friends as they neared Cavern Hole.

            "Zurr Skip an' zurr Nik, ev'rybeast waitin' furr ee!" the molebabe exclaimed, tugging on Nik's tunic.

            "Oh, all right then, Guddle! Hold your whiskers, we're making progress," the squirrel warrior replied.

            The mole Guddle dashed off towards Cavern Hole.

            Skipper shook his head, laughing. "Hahaha! That liddle Guddle, always tellin' otherbeasts wot they got ter do! Wi' luck, he might be the nex' Foremole!"

            "That is, when he's old enough. I'm sure his leadership skills'll be at its highest…that is, if Guddle can stand heights that high!"

            The two friends laughed. They both knew moles were afraid of heights, and Nik's remark was meant to be a joke about it.

            Blind old Cregga Badgermum sat next to Abbess Songbreeze, or Song, for short. The big badger mother of Redwall waited patiently as the door creaked open, and a silence hung upon Cavern Hole. Everybeast seated turned their heads to the door.

            Skipper and Nik poked their heads out of the doorway. They gazed around the silenced room, and then walked in. Skipper fidgeted with the end of his jerkin, and Nik busied himself with making sure the door was closed.

            "Er, hehe, we're here," Skip said, breaking the silence.

            Cregga's stern face creased into a smile. "We can see that. Or, at least everyone else can. Now, sit yourselves down, and let's get started."

            Nik and Skipper sat themselves at the table. Abbess Song said grace, and the food was laid out. Shrimp and hotroot soup, wild onion and leek stew, and vegetable and fruit salads surrounded two large cakes topped with meadowcream, one for Skipper and one for Nik, were in turn surrounded by warm Redwall Abbeyscones—pink scones shaped into miniature sandstone blocks—filled with meadowcream, assorted breads and cheeses, flans, redcurrant and blackberry tarts, and oatfarls covered with comb honey. Truffles and pudding, along with skilly 'n' duff and deeper 'n' ever turnip 'n' tater 'n' beetroot pie, were placed round those, accompanied by casks of mint tea, October ale, redcurrant cordial, horse-chestnut beer, dandelion and burdock cordial, and strawberry and cowslip cordial.

            The whole of Redwall Abbey congratulated Skip for his promotion and Nik for being a season older. Skipper and Nik winked at each other, and when everyone had started eating, the two were bolting down their food quicker than a hungry hare.

*                      *                      *

Stormpaw had made a suitable craft and was sailing close to the shores. She was heading who-knows-where, but she had an instinct that said to follow the shore until she reached a river. And reach one she did, but it was getting late already.

            As Stormpaw breached her raft next to a quiet spot near the river's edge, she listened for any trouble. Once or twice she'd heard a commotion around some bushes, and she wasn't sure whether it was a friend or foebeast.

            A fire was built and dandelion and onion broth was cooked. The young otter munched calmly on some wild strawberries with her bone-handled sword next to her right paw in the sand. Her bow and arrows were safe under some foliage next to her pack. She knew she couldn't waste her arrows: she might need them later.

            Another rustle in the nearby bushes caught Stormpaw's attention. The female otter watched with keen darting eyes and dark figures paced at the opposite end of the bushes. Stormpaw pretended not to notice.

            As the sun finally set and the fire became embers, the figures behind the bushes grew more restless. Stormpaw knew there's no way she could sleep with them lurking amongst the shadows. So she waited, eyes half-closed and back against a tree trunk close to the fire, sword lying by her paw. In this position she could seem as if she were asleep.

            Out of the bushes came a small band of vermin—a fox and three rats. The four crept towards Stormpaw's relaxed form. A rat and the fox moved for the fire while another rat searched for Stormpaw's haversack. The last rat crouched next to the pretending otter, totally unaware that Stormpaw had gripped her sword handle. The rat drew a dagger.

            "Phawhawhaw!" he chuckled evilly. "Dis be yore last night, ruddertail! Phawhawhaw!"

            The rat was ready to slit Stormpaw's throat when he let out a squeal of dismay. He slumped forward, unconscious, having had the wind knocked out of him.

            The fox and remaining two rats faced Stormpaw, who was shoving the rat aside as she stood up, grasping the hilt of her sword. She muttered about the rude sneakings by vermin as she did so.

            "Humph. Worthless scum, can't give an otter 'er, sleep! Well, afore dawn strikes, I'll teach 'em wot's good fer 'em, I will."  
            "You! Streamdog!" the fox snarled. "Aren't yore supposed ter be sleepin'?"

            "Nah, not wi' fools like yoreselves tryin' t'sneak upon me camp."

            With those words, Stormpaw hurled her powerful self at the fox. She thwacked the fox over his head with her sword hilt, and then turned her back upon the motionless creature. She faced the two cringing rats as they backed away from her camp.

            "All right, scum," Stormpaw growled. "I'm givin' yeh twelve seconds t'run, draggin' yore comrades along wi' yeh. Yeh two better git a move on, coz if'n I still see yeh after twelve seconds, my sword'll run through the both o' yeh. One…"

            The rats squealed unhappily and ran as fast as they could while dragging the other rat and the fox along with them.

            "Well, I 'ope that's the last o' them," Stormpaw muttered. "Hopefully they didn't gobble up all o' my vittles…"

            "Nah, them jolly blighters wouldn't dare lay a paw on yon vittles, missie," a cheerful-sounding voice replied. "An' I know I wouldn't even _dream_ of touchin' yore vittles, wot wot."

            "You flopearred mangyfurred yahooligan, 'course y'would, Paint!" another voice countered. "'Tis likely fer an 'are like y'self gittin caught tryin' ter snatch a bit o' that otter's food."

            "That's right, and 'tis only good that you'd stay away from her. She's a feisty one, she is," a third voice squeaked. "She attacked those rats and fox, poor vermin!"

            "Tchah! Since when d'you care for verminfolk, wot? I say, I'd absoballylutely want t'make an alliance wi' that sorto otter chap."

            Stormpaw waited silently as the debate continued from behind a row of trees. She casually sat by her fire, tending to it. The young otter then dug up her half-buried haversack and uncovered her bow and arrows.

            "All right, 'nough gab, come out where I can see yeh three," Stormpaw ordered, reheating two oat scones. "Yore makin' me bored wi' yore talk."

            A lanky hare, a young mousemaid, and a sturdy hedgehog appeared from the underbrush. The hare wore a faded brown tunic and a woven straw hat upon his head, holes cut out so his ears could poke through. The mousemaid was plainly prissy—she wore a billowy blue dress and a bow at the end of her tail. Her face shown of beauty, and was shaded with a small blue bonnet. The hedgehog, on the other hand, looked a lot like the hare. He wore a simple jerkin and had a haversack slung over his shoulder.

            "Well now, wot 'ave I got 'ere?" Stormpaw asked with mock malice, testing the straightness of one of her arrows. "A plump 'edge'og, a lean 'are, an' a small mousey. Hmm…would any o' you'd like somethin' t'eat?"

            The mousemaid gasped audibly. She ran and hid behind the hedgehog, tugging on his jerkin. "Mister Lunkin, she's going to eat us!"

            "'Ow many times 'ave I got ter tell yeh, call me Lunkin, not _mister_ Lunkin!" the hedgehog exclaimed. "An' no, she's not gonna eat us…are yeh, mate?"

            Stormpaw dropped her arrow and took the hot scones from the fire. She placed them on a rock to cool, then sat back on her powerful rudder-like tail and pretended to think.

            "Hmm. Now, if'n I ate you three, then I'd git a stummick ache o' me life. 'Sides, 'tis ain't fair that I git ter live an' a jolly 'edge'og an' a gluttonous 'are can't. Dunno 'bout you, though, mousey. Tell me, d'you taste well? Smells good 'nough fer me."

            "Oh, I hope not, miss—"

            Stormpaw's nose twitched, interrupting the mouse, who was unused to being deterred.

            "Well, how rude, otter! If I could, I'd—"

            Stormpaw lifted her bow and notched an arrow in it. She pointed it straight at the mousemaid. The otter's three visitors stood frozen in shock.

            "Everybeast 'round the camp, 'it the dirt!" Stormpaw roared.

            Instinctively, Lunkin the hedgehog pushed the mouse down onto the sandy river shore, falling flat at the same time. The hare lay down flat as a river pebble whizzed by where his head was a moment before.

            "All right, scum, stop sneakin' about an' git out 'ere!" the young female otter challenged, her arrow still pointed at the unseen enemy.

            A whole gang of water rats—about half a score—emerged from the undergrowth. Stormpaw recognized two of them from just earlier.

            The lead water rat, a big male, stepped forward. He brandished a double-bitted ax. "Yew! Riverdog! Yore on ar terriry now, planktail! Git off'n ar riverbank now!" he demanded.

            "A tad commanding, ain't he?" the hare remarked, picking himself up from the sand. Lunkin and the mousemaid stood up, too.

            Stormpaw tightened her hold on the bow and arrow. "Hah, speak fer y'self, rat. This 'ere riverbank ain't yores t'ave, an' there's nothin' y'can do t'stop me from campin' on it. Move one step for'ard an' I'll show yeh wot I mean."

            The water rat ignored her warning and took a defiant step towards the otter. Quick as lightning, Stormpaw released the arrow. The rat fell with a dull thud.

            "See wot I mean?" Stormpaw spat at the other rats. She glared at the group of vermin. "Now, I'm sure yeh all don't want t'die that same death, right?"

            The other rats nodded.

            "Then begone, or I'll chuck you inter the river wi' me bladepoint!"

            In a matter of moments, the nine rats fled, tripping over each other in an attempt to escape the otter. Stormpaw had proven her point—nobeast could stop her. The young otter kicked the carcass of the slain rat into the river without removing the black-fletched arrow, ignoring the horror-struck face of the mousemaid and the grim features of Lunkin and the hare.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The mousemaid, whose name was Maybell, trudged cautiously next to Lunkin, as close to the otter warrior as she dared. Stormpaw had abandoned camp and had decided to trek with her three newfound friends towards Redwall. Even though Stormpaw proved amiable and Lunkin and the hare, Painttail, had instantly made friends with her, Maybell was still cautious. She had never seen the killing of another creature before in her life, and she wasn't willing to see it again.

            "So…ever been to Redwall afore, Storm?" Lunkin asked the born warrior.

            "No, Lunkin matey, never. The only place I've known 'bout was my home isle, Ruddaring. Two days ago, a large amount o' corsairs—led by their stoat cap'n Rugval Sarrico, I think 'twas— attacked our peaceful isle an' slew all o' my family. Afore the vile creature could git a'old o' me, my mum an' dad placed me in a large basket an' sent me mainland. Then I ended up wi' you three."

            Painttail pushed aside a leafy fern with his pike that he held in his paw. With his other paw, he pointed to a faint spire sticking up from the other side of a tall hill.

            "That there be the jolly Redwall, Stormpaw. Jus' a bit more o' the paw, wot? Mmm…smells like brekkist!"

            The lanky mountain hare dashed up the path with Stormpaw in his wake. Lunkin and Maybell brought up the rear, listening to their friends' conversation.

            "'Ave yeh ever tried flans or trifles, or deeper'n'ever turnip'n'tater'n'beetroot pie, or some jolly plum puddin'?"

            "No. Are they good, Paint?"

            "Good! Y'could bet yore sword that they are!"

            "I wouldn't dream o' doin' that sort o' thing. This 'ere sword's the on'y thing t'remind me o' my dead family an' the vengeance they so need."

            "Ah well. I'm sure a few other otters'd like t'git their bally paws on that blinkin' sharp thing, wot."

            "Otters? Did y'say otters?"

            "Yes, I jolly well did."

            Stormpaw thought this over. More otters in this Redwall place? It sounded good and fair to her ears, and, coming from an honest hare like Painttail, Stormpaw knew she could trust him to his word.

The feast ended late in the night. The next day was a sunny and lively one, and Skipper and Nik continued on their boating skills. Watched by Nik's younger brother, Kippit, the two improvised their raft.

            The Dibbun squirrel (though he was big enough and old enough not to be called a Dibbun) Kippit, or Kipp, for short, dashed off to a nearby tree and watched the two older beasts from his perch. Kip glanced to his other side and saw four creatures running up the path.

            "Whoahohoho!" one exclaimed. "Redwaaaaall!"

            "Redwaaaaaaaall!"

            Their cries mingled and could be heard even from inside the walls. Kippit jumped down from his perch and ran to his older brother, who had already spotted the travelers.

            "Skip! Look, 'tis Painttail, Lunkin, and Maybell! And they've got an otter friend with them!" Nik exclaimed.

            "'Nother otter, eh? Might as well, coz me crew's short on warriors. Maybe this other otter'd make a great warrior," Skipper replied.

            Painttail bounded down the path, followed by Stormpaw and Lunkin. Maybell took her time and strolled insolently down the path. Stormpaw tripped up on the hare's long footpaws and the two went tumbling down the rest of the hillside path.

            "Whoa!" Painttail exclaimed. "Easy there, m'gel! Y'could chop me whiskers off wi' that bally sword, wot, wot!"

            "Sorry, Paint," Stormpaw replied as the others caught up. The female otter picked herself up and straighted her sword strap. Then she helped Painttail up off the ground.

            "See what I mean by dashing off so quickly, mister Painttail?" Maybell scolded in her high, prissy voice. "You tripped and fell! You could've gotten hurt, you know. I'm not responsible for everybeast."

            Stormpaw laughed aloud. It was the first time anybeast had heard her barking laughter, really. It shocked Painttail, Lunkin, and Maybell to hear it.

            "Hahaharr! Yeh liddle mouseymaid, gittin yoreself too 'igh in the tree, do yeh think? I won't consider yeh responsible fer anybeast, 'cept yoreself. Jus' be careful when ole Stormpaw's around, y'might find yoreself polishin' me sword. Haharr!"

            Suddenly, Stormpaw realized what had happened. "Well, strike me colors, I jus' laughed. Huh, I 'aven't laughed since ole Ruddaring fell t'the sea vermin…I guess I sorta missed laughin'."

            Painttail patted Stormpaw's shoulder with his paw. "Don't y'worry, m'gel! We'll git yeh laughing in no time at all." The hare turned to the patiently waiting Skip, Nik, and Kippit. "So sorry, fellow chaps. Ah, Skip an' Nik! Blow me away, yore all grown now!"

            The male otter, a full head taller than Stormpaw, nodded. "Aye, Nik 'ad 'is birthday yesterday, Paint. I 'ad me promotion yesterday, too. Now I'm a Skipper. Uh, an _official_ Skipper." He eyed Stormpaw. "An' who's this pretty liddle otter yeh have wi' yeh?"

            "Sorry t'burst yore bubbles, sir, but I ain't liddle an' I ain't pretty," Stormpaw interrupted.

            The bigger otter shook his head. "Don't call me 'sir,' pretty-face, the name's Skipper of Otters, or just plain Skipper. An' y'should look yoreself in a mirror more often. Then ye'll see who's prettier—you or Painttail!"

            Stormpaw grinned. "Well, if'n y'put it that way, then I'm very flattered that y'think I'm pretty. Ole Painttail needs a fur job. Oh, by the way, me name's Stormpaw."

            "Well, nice to meet you, Stormpaw," the bigger of the two squirrels chimed in. "I'm Niklur, but you can call me Nik. I'm Redwall's Champion."

            The little squirrel by Niklur spoke up. "I'm Kippit, Nik's brother. Is that Martin's sword?" The squirrelbabe pointed to the sword held tightly in the female otter's paws.

            "No, little tyke, 'tis Stormpaw's sword," Nik corrected. "Martin's is within the Abbey. Say, speaking of the Abbey, have you lot eaten yet? We still have lots of food left in the kitchens."

            Painttail's ears stood on end when the word "food" was mentioned. "Why, no we 'aven't, jolly lad, Nik. I'll be in th' jolly kitchen." And Painttail was off in a flash.

            "Thankee, sir Nik, I'll be off too. Must fill this 'ere sack wi' provisions," Lunkin told Nik and was soon running after Painttail.

            "I _could_ use a tour," Stormpaw said. "'Sides, I'm 'ungry too. After a night of rats an' foxes attackin' me camp, I could use some peace an' joviality. C'mon, Maybell, y'don't want ter starve or stay out 'ere."

            "Well…" Maybell began, but Stormpaw and the others were already heading for the gates. "Oh, all right, I'm coming."

*                      *                      *

"Are they inside yet?" a hoarse voice snapped at a quivering weasel.

            "Yes, sir Rugval, sir, they are," the weasel replied hastily. "Uh, uh, inside th' Abbey, sir. Um, last I 'eard from th' group was that they're lookin' fer food."

            The creature facing the weasel, the one who had emitted the hoarse voice, grinned and toyed with a knife. "Well then."

            "What should we do, sir?"

            Rugval snarled at the weasel. "Take yore best spies an' go an' find out what else they're doin', yeh idiot!"

            "Uh, yessir!" the weasel exclaimed and was dismissed. Then he mumbled as he left, "Take best spies, find out what they're doin'…"

            Rugval Sarrico, a lean and sinewy stoat corsair, sat in his rickety captain's chair aboard his first ship, the _Renegade_, named after his tendency to betray even his most loyal cohorts His second ship, _Mutineer_, was also named after his back-stabbing reputation.

            Scratching his tawny, sand-colored throat fur, Rugval looked out his window and saw his crew frolicking in the surf and sand.

            "Nitwits, they're not 'ere t'play, they're 'ere t'collect supplies!" The stoat stood up and poked his head out the window. "Yeh numbskulls, stop yore foolin' 'round and git t'work! _Renegade_ and _Mutineer_'s not even arf done yet and all yore thinkin' of doin' is havin' fun! Git dry, git wood, an' git t'work! We ain't sailin' till these ships is fully repaired! Yew there—gather a bunch o' crewbeasts an' search fer food an' vittles."

            "Cap'n," a timid-looking rat piped up, "yew said we'd come t'shore an' start conquering. 'Ow come we're repairin' der ships?"

            As the knife Rugval had been holding buried itself in the rat's shoulder, the stoat replied, "Coz in case we're done conquerin' this land, we'll sail an' conquer more, dimwit!" Rugval disappeared from the window, but he could still be heard yelling, "Oh, an' the moment yeh've finished pullin' that knife out, return it!"

            All the crewbeasts stopped their horseplay and set to work, ignoring the whimpering rat. The ones who had been in the water dried themselves off and went to look for decent wood. Those who hadn't been in the water went back to the ships and started nailing the ready-made wooden planks to the battered hull while a group of other searched for food. Whiptail, one of the rats in charge, flicked his whip to hurry up the process.

            "Yew turtles, git a move on! Cap'n Rugval don't want ter see anybeast slackin'!" Whiptail ordered.

            Then came Rugval's voice. "Whiptail, git ter work! Yore 'nother crewbeast and yore not 'ere t'waste air by talkin'! Put the whip back an' git t'work! I want _Renegade_ and _Mutineer_ t'be finished in three days, an' then we'll git movin' on inland. Keep a slow an' steady pace, yeh lizards, or she'll break agin, an yeh don't want ter see me if she does!"

            "AYE AYE SIR!" came the loud and unified voices of all the crewbeasts. They pushed on as some of the crew returned from wood gathering.

*                      *                      *

"So this'n's Redwall Abbey? Mum an' Dad always spoke o' it, but never told me nothin' 'bout it. I'm impressed."

            Stormpaw walked aimlessly around the Abbey. Painttail had decided to give her a tour, and a few Dibbuns had followed. Kippit and his friends were among the group along with a few younger Dibbuns, and they were busy chasing each other at the moment. Kippit's mousefriend, Tibbin, squeaked as he tripped upon the floor and landed tail over paws against the tapestry of the legendary Martin the Warrior.

            "Oh, will yeh young hooligans stop bangin' yoreselves inter the blinkin' walls already, wot?!" Painttail growled threateningly.

            The little Dibbuns squeaked in fake dismay, trying to conceal their giggles. Painttail adopted an angry harewife look as he chided the Dibbuns.

            "Yeh bunch could 'ave knocked down the bally tapestry, wot! Shame on yeh fer dirtyin' Martin's image on cloth!"

            "Ho urr, we'm be surry, zurr Pointtoil," the molebabe Guddle whimpered, hiding his face behind his digging claws to hide a smile. "We'm not durtin' Marthen's image, zurr!"

            "Yes, yes!" a female mousebabe squeaked in surrender. "Aff mercy on us likkle uns, sir! We dinna mean it!"

            Stormpaw chuckled and elbowed Painttail, who was now brandishing a broken broom at the little creatures.

            "'Ave mercy on 'em, Paint," the female otter told her friend. "They didn't mean any 'arm t'the tapestry."

            "Jus' makin' sure…" Painttail replied. Then he grinned. "Yeh ever 'eard 'bout Martin?"

            "I told yeh once, and I'll tell yeh agin—I've never 'eard o' Redwall or Martin or Mossflow'r before now."

            "Well, Dibbuns, shall we tell 'er?" the hare asked the little ones.

            "Yes!" they all cheered in unison. "Tell missie Storm 'bout Martin!"

Kurpit the weasel sat uncomfortably on a high branch above Redwall Abbey. He and four others—three rats and a ferret—were the best spies in Rugval Sarrico's horde. They looked down upon the grassy lawns, the smooth-surfaced pond, the orchards, the busy Abbeybeasts, and the large redstone Abbey itself.

            "Yowch!" a rat named Rawtooth exclaimed as a jutting piece of the oak tree pierced his footpaw. His companions turned to him and shushed loudly.

            "Be still, yew crippled excuse fer a rat!" the ferret, Stumptail, snarled.

            "But I gotta splinner!" Rawtooth complained. "An' it 'urts, too!"

            "Shuddap!" the other four hissed.

            They all looked down at the Abbey in time to see Abbess Song and her husband Dannflor exit the building. They were chatting nonchalantly with Foremole Ruggum. The five hordebeasts leaned closer to hear.

            "We need another day or two to completely stabilize the south wall, Abbess," Dann said. "Ruggum says that the south wall is cracking again; we might need to redo the construction of the whole south wall."

            Abbess Song pursed her lips, something she does when she's thinking. "Well…I guess you could continue with it. I just hope no vermin come along at this time. We're in a bad position to be attacked, you know."

            "Hurr, ee be roight," Ruggum replied. "Moi molebeasts an' oi'll fix'n ee wall afore vurmints attack. Furst we'm need a gurt holer dug, then…"

            Foremole Ruggum continued with everything that had to be done. He showed the two squirrels exactly where he and his moles would dig, where the construction would take place, and how the wall would be fixed. The south wall had been toppling before due to underground water. Now it was on the verge of toppling again due to the gradually forming cracks in some areas.

            This was good news to the five spies of Rugval's horde. Grinning confidently, Kurpit sent two rats back to the ship to tell of the news. The two rats, Rawtooth and another called Twineback, hurried back south, racing each other with refreshed excitement. The other three listened intently to further conversation.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"So that's the story of Martin?" Stormpaw asked, scratching her chin thoughtfully.

            "Yep, m'gel, the whole bally story, wot," Painttail replied, yawning widely. "Now, if'n y'likes, I'm off t'the ole kitchen agin. I c'n smell a pie a mile away; Brother Lanno's makin' pies agin, Dibbuns! Lessah go!"

            The little Abbeybabes squealed in delight at the mention of snatching fresh food. They scurried hastily after Painttail in the direction of the kitchens, laughing the whole way.

            "Kchakchakcha! He natrral mother, ain't he?"

            Stormpaw nodded without turning her head to look at the new arrival. "Aye, Rukkachun, he is. Say, watcha doin' out 'ere? Thought ye'd be far south."

            Rukkachun, a sparrow of sorts, impatiently perched himself on the window ledge next to Stormpaw. His sleek brown and gray body set him apart from the other sparrows in the area; he, his parents, and his two younger siblings were the only chipping sparrow in Mossflower. Rukkachun, or Rukka for short, liked to fly over the sea and visit Ruddaring at times. Rukka and Stormpaw were close friends, and the young sparrow was glad to have the otter in his territory.

            "Naw, Rukka bein' flyin' northa cos a Sarrico. He been huntin' sparras inna beach. Rukka losta his fam'ly t'Rugval."

            Stormpaw's attention was immediately on what Rukka had said. "Rugval? Rugval Sarrico, did yeh say?"

            "Yessie, Rukka did. Rukka norra know what he be-doin' inna Mossflo'r— Sarrico's sea- lovin'—b'he an' his group a bists arra killa alla fam'ly up. Rukka on'y chippin' sparra left t'live, Sto'paw."

            Stormpaw's paws clenched tightly. Through gritted teeth she growled, "Rugval Sarrico! The corsair stoat…he was the onn who slew all me folk!"

            Rukka shuddered visibly. "Rukka norra wanna think a what Sto'paw woulda do t'Sarrico. Firstee choppa his head offa his shoulders, then skin his fuzz offa—"

            "It's fur, Rukka, _fur_."

            "Fuzz, fur, wassa diff'rent?"

            Stormpaw growled impatiently. Rukka ended the argument and continued his message. "Sto'paw, Sarrico plannin' t'conquer. Wanna conquer. Wanna killa'n'slaya. Sto'paw… Rugval a-comin' t'Mossflo'r."

*                      *                      *

Brother Lanno, a stout mouse with a talent for cooking, continued taking the blueberry pies out of the oven. Steaming hot and smelling sweet, the pies were set on the window ledge to be cooled.

            "Mmm!" Sister Rosa, a thin, tall mouse—the complete opposite of Brother Lanno— exclaimed as she sniffed the pies eagerly. "Ooh, Brother, you have outdone yourself again! These pies smell simply exquisite! I cannot wait to serve them, let alone eat them!"

            "Then wait no longer, marm, coz 'ungry rascals like us'n warriors'll need lots o' bally tucker, wot!"

            Brother Lanno groaned. "Oh no, not that old hare again!"

            Painttail and the band of Dibbuns that had helped tell Stormpaw about 

Martin banged open the kitchen doors and strolled inside, heads held high and noses in the air. Some Dibbuns even had their little chests puffed out. They carried sticks while Painttail carried his pike over one shoulder. The group nonchalantly walked inside, then Kippit strolled confidently past the others, who were standing at attention. Tibbin and Guddle flanked the young squirrelbabe, and all were carrying sticks.

            "Ten-hut!" Painttail commanded. The two rows of Dibbuns stamped a footpaw down hard, and turned to face the two kitchen mice, which were trying hard to suppress giggles.

            "'Pon Hen'ral Paint's o'dah, I o'dah you to cut us'n's up a pie!" said the mousebabe Tibbin, grasping his stick like a sword.

            Sister Rosa gasped in mock fright. "Oh no, Brother Lanno, look at those brave Dibbuns…"

            "Hurr, marm, we'm not Dibbuns! We'm wurriurs!" Guddle corrected, brandishing his short stick at her. "Us'n's be wurriurs, an' we'm 'tectin' Redwall h'Abbey frumm vurmints."

            The Sister smiled. "Of course, Guddle, you're warriors. Forgive me for my absurdity. Now, you would like pie?"

            The Dibbuns and Painttail nodded anxiously.

            Brother Lanno nodded slowly, smiling. "Well, we can't have starving warriors, can we now?" The fat mouse shuffled over to where the pies were being cooled and examined them. Selecting a sweet smelling cooled one, Brother Lanno separated it into sections and handed them to Painttail, who desperately tried not to eat it ahead of time.

            "Thankee koindly, marm," Guddle thanked. "Thankee, zurr."

            Kippit waved his stick in the air like a windmill, jumping up and down gleefully.

            "Yippee! We got pie! Redwaaall!" the little squirrel exclaimed jubilantly as he led the group out of the kitchen and outside to the lawns, screaming the Redwall war cry. "Redwaaaall!"

            "I say, wot!" Painttail told the babe as the band of little Dibbuns and one hare entered Great Hall. "Calm down, yer shakin' me ears off! If'n ye'd like a war cry, then try this 'un—eulaaliaaaaaaa!"

            Abbess Song, who had just entered Great Hall as well, hastily covered her ears with the long sleeves of her habit. "Painttail, my word, you and those young ones are causing such a racket that my head could pop right off!"

            Kippit felt suddenly ashamed. "Sorry, Mum, we're just making war cries."

            But Painttail was in no position to say his apologies. He had set down the pie and was busy staring strangely at the tapestry of Martin the Warrior. At the image of the warrior's feet was a familiar black-feathered arrow stuck deep within the cloth and embedded in the stone wall behind it. Rolled tightly around the arrow was a piece of parchment. As the Abbess and the Dibbuns rallied behind Painttail to look at what had happened, the hare took down the parchment and read out loud:

                        "Dear friends of the great Abbey,

                        Don't follow me unless you dare.

                        Lives will vanish in the blink of an eye,

                        So don't follow lest you don't care.

                        But if you do come, heed my words,

                        And follow the river of green.

                        Thou must turn unto the sea,

                        And track down Death's own queen.

                        Listen; the chipping bird calls,

                        His voice, the eagle among crows.

                        Beware the fiery mountain of hell,

                        But friends are there; who knows?

                        Leave the green river; follow the tide,

                        Where one will die unmercifully.

                        Rugval Sarrico will know no fear,

                        Till we set his wretched soul free.

                        To the gates of Dark Forest,

                        That's where Sarrico goes.

                        His death was written at his first breath;

                        The Death Queen will destroy her foes."

            Kippit clung frightfully to his mother's habit. "Mum, what did it mean?"

            "I'm afraid I'm not sure," Abbess Song admitted. "Painttail, was there anything else that drew you here other than the arrow?"

            The hare nodded grimly. "Stormpaw was 'ere afore we entered the jolly kitchen. She was alone, actually. An' then we came out, yellin' our wotsisthings—war cries—an' then she ain't 'ere anymore. Fringe me fur…I think I figgered this thingummy rhyme already, wot! Quick, Dibbuns an' Abbess, marm…bring me ter the Recorder!"

Young Wedge Bristle the hedgehog gatehouse keeper let Abbess Song and Painttail inside. (The Dibbuns, too preoccupied with their game of playing warriors, hadn't joined.) Wedge and his otter companion, Runn Rivereye, were the only ones in the gatehouse on most occasions. Old Recorder Rimrose Swifteye, Abbess Song's own mother, was a visitor to the gatehouse regularly, at least four times a season. Today, luckily, she was there, sitting in a comfy green armchair with a book in her lap.

            "Song! What a pleasure to see you here," Rimrose greeted. For a squirrel as old and frail as her, she was still lively and fit. Hugging her daughter, Rimrose continued, "You're just in time. Wedge was making his famous fruit salad. It's that special one with all the berries in it."

            "Thank you for inviting us to have something to eat, Mother, but we had already brought some pie Brother Lanno had given us," Abbess replied, holding out the blueberry pie.

            Runn grinned widely. He twitched his nose. "Oooh, Abbess marm, that wot I think 'tis? Berries innerside it! Thank yeh kindly, marm, yeh brought me fav'rite! Wedge, matey, c'mon an' git somethin' ter eat!"

            Wedge was a jolly hedgehog that always agreed to a good idea. He brought out polished wooden plates and forks and laid them out on a circular table in the center of the room. Painttail placed the pie ever so gently in the center while Wedge went back to fetch his fruit salad, which he placed next to the pie.

            "Bless us all for this food," Abbess said a swift, one-sentence prayer quietly. She looked at her three eager friends and her frail mother and nodded. Wedge, Runn, and Painttail attacked their share of the food in a mad rush while Rimrose, smiling at them as kindly as she could without laughing, ate slowly. Abbess Song sat herself down next to the old Recorder, picked at her slice of pie, and then turned to the three males. Painttail was getting the better of the other two and held two slices of pie, one in each paw. Runn and Wedge kept pushing each other aside, trying to reach the last slice. Rimrose sighed, rolled her eyes mockingly, and then snatched the pie from under their noses.

            "Rimrose, marm, why'd yeh do that?" Runn asked pleadingly.

            "Mother Abbess, stop 'er!" Wedge added.

            Abbess Song stood up again and glanced at the gluttonous hare. Painttail put his two pie slices down and jumped up on his footpaws. Then the Abbess spoke.

            "You three know the new otter, correct?" she began. "Just in case you don't, her name is Stormpaw Swiftwater, the last of Holt Rudderwake. She has killed some and has made an alliance with Painttail, Lunkin, and Maybell, along with Skipper of Otters and my Niklur. She was last seen in Great Hall next to Martin's tapestry. Moments later, she was gone. Painttail has figured this out already, or so he says. Painttail, would you please hand the parchment to my mother before you start?"

            Painttail nodded courtly and passed the parchment to Rimrose. The old squirrel Recorder donned her glasses and looked down at it observantly. She read the rhyme aloud to Wedge and Runn, and then looked up at Painttail when she finished.

            "I think I have figured it out, too, Painttail. It's not hard to decipher," the squirrel said. "First, tell me what you think."

            "I jolly well think Storm's gone t'find the blinkin' Sarrico blighter," Painttail began. "She never liked the lot; she told us'n's afore we came 'ere. She wants revenge. 'Er family died coz this wotsisname's crew attacked their bally island, wot! That's the beginnin' part o' it all."

            Wedge looked over the Recorder's shoulder at the parchment. "Wot's 'Death's Queen'?"

            "Simple, m'laddie buck!" Painttail replied. "Yeh might not know 'er much as Lunkin an' Maybell an' I do. Death's Queen can't be anybeast but Stormpaw 'erself!"

            Runn blinked, confused. "Why?" he finally asked.

            "Coz she's like a demon from Hellgates, that young un!" Painttail literally screamed in exasperation. "She can lay a fox low wi' one thwack of 'er blinkin' sword hilt an' can shoot an arrer like straight inter somebeast's 'eart! Wheeze me, wot, it's like speakin' ter a bally mole!"

            Abbess put a paw on the hare's shoulder. "Easy now, Painttail, let's not get to chaotic. Now for the second verse. What do you think it says, Mother?"

            "The first line simply means what it says," Rimrose replied. "Now, the second and third lines contain the riddle. 'And follow the river of green.' Do we have a green river?"

            "Aren't rivers blue?" Wedge wondered. "There ain't any green rivers 'ereabouts."

            Rimrose smiled. "Who says? Runn, you're an otter. Tell us—are there any green rivers near the Abbey?"

            "Why, no, marm," the otter replied. "There's the Great South Stream an' the River Moss…" It suddenly dawned on Runn. "Strike me colors, that's wot the rhyme meant! The River Moss an' the Great South Stream!"

            The old Recorder nodded. "That's right. I saw it, too. Both rivers aren't actually green, but moss is green and thus the River Moss is the answer to the first one."

            Abbess Song thought it over. "So the first part literally means that if we follow Stormpaw, then we must follow the River Moss."

            "'Thou must turn unto the sea…'" Wedge murmured. "Does this mean we turn west?"

            "But what o' the bally Great South Stream?" Painttail wondered. "We need t'follow _two_ rivers."

            Rimrose intervened. "I think…I _think_ I know what to do for 'thou'. See, it says 'thou must turn'. So we must turn thou."

            "But which of us will turn?" Abbess Song asked.

            "No, daughter, that's not what I meant. Turn 'thou'—uoth."

            "Ah…so yeh turned the word around," Runn observed. "But wot does 'uoth' mean?"

            "Try switching some more letters around."

            "Outh?"

            "Now, what does that sound like?"

            "Outh?" Wedge reiterated what his otter friend had said.

            "Yes, outh."

            "Mouth…trout…south…" Wedge stopped thinking. "South!"

            "See? We then follow the Great South Stream!" Rimrose retorted. "So Stormpaw is following Sarrico. If we follow her, we must follow the River Moss and then the Great South Stream to the sea, only southwards. Simple as that!"

            "Then wot about the other verses?" Wedge asked.

            "What's a chipping bird?" Abbess Song added. "I've never heard of anything like it."

            "Well then…off we go t'the best bird watcher'n all o' Redwall—Sister Rayna!" Painttail exclaimed excitedly.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Partially repaired, the ship _Renegade_ sat unmoving on the beach, her stern being washed continuously by the surf. Rugval Sarrico planted himself firmly on a rock, overlooking the progress. One paw gripped his cutlass handle tightly while the other shielded his eyes from the sun. Sarrico was a true corsair, and he hated staying on land for more than one day. And if he _is_ on land for more than one day, he gets edgy and irritable.

            Rawtooth and Twineback suddenly appeared out of the forest. They scrambled to their leader, spraying sand everywhere with every step. Rugval snarled at the two rats, who stood trembling at attention. Rawtooth and Twineback gave smart salutes.

            "Cap'n sir, der h'Abbey's south wall's topplin' down," Twineback blurted out. "It'll take some days fer der goodbeasts t'repair it. We cou' fight them an' gain cont'l o' der Mossflo'r!"

            This lightened Sarrico up, but only a little bit. He rapped out harshly, "Then wot're yew waitin' for, yew lousy fleabitten nitwits! Git back t'the Abbey an' find out wot's goin' on!"

            "Aye aye sir!" The two rats ran back to the Abbey, breathing heavily and dashing madly.

            Sarrico motioned for two of his Captains, and they came.

            "Aye, sir?" a rat asked.

            "You two gather two dozen workers and stay here to repair _Renegade_ and _Mutineer_. I'll gather the rest o' the crew an' 'ead inland. D'yeh unnerstand?"

            "Aye, sir!" the other Captain replied for the both of them.

            Rukkachun watched all this, hidden well amongst the leafy foliage. Standing awkwardly on his perch, Rukka chuckled to himself. "Kchakcha! Thatta stoat is killa, but he be killad soon! Kchakcha!"

            The chipping sparrow flew from the tree in the opposite direction of the site to tell the patiently waiting Stormpaw of the news.

Stormpaw sat by a small stream barely big enough to wade in and listened to Rukka's message.

            "Kchakchakchaaaaar!" the bird exclaimed as he pecked hungrily at a small fish his otter friend had caught earlier. "Sarrico send ratters to the h'Abbey. Heesa wanna spy. Heesa gonna 'tack Redwall, Sto'paw. Nothin' yeh c'n do outta 'ere."

            "Nothin' _I_ can do, mayhaps, but yore wings'd git yeh t'Redwall faster than an 'are can eat one pastry," the female otter replied. "Send word t'Abbess Song an' the others. Git them ready fer wotever Rugval wants t'throw at 'em."

            And Rukkachun was off in the blink of an eye.

*                      *                      *

Sister Rayna, Painttail's mate, loved to bird watch. She'd even sketch the rarer ones that she'd sight on occasion. Now she was rummaging through her sketches to look for a chipping bird, as the rhyme had stated.

            "I know of no chippin' bird, marm," Rayna told Abbess Song, "but there's a critter called a chippin' sparrow, wot, see?"

            Rayna held up the quick-yet-accurate sketch of a chipping sparrow. It was a brown back with gray belly feathers. Black stripes streaked down the back of the bird on the parchment.

            "There's only five blinkin' chippin' sparrows in Mossflower, though," Rayna continued. "I'm afraid they died out, though; I never saw 'em after three seasons afore now."

            "Wot does a chippin' bird sound like, marm?" Runn asked, staring at the sketch.

            "It's just one long trill, like this…" The harewife cupped her paws around her mouth and screeched. "Treeeeeeeeyahhh! Otherwise, it sounds like a regular sparrow. Kchakcha! See wot I mean?"

            Painttail nodded to his wife affectionately. "That be righto, me beauty, wot."

            "Yer sayin' that there's only one or two chippin' sparrows left in Mossflower? It'd take an 'ole season t'find un!" Wedge said unhappily.

            "No, actually," Rimrose stated. "All we have to do is listen. Read—'His voice, the eagle among crows.'"

            "An' that means…"

            "We listen! If we hear a long sharp 'treeyah' we can find the chipping sparrow!"

            No sooner had she voiced the last word there was a shrill cry just outside the room's window.

            "Treeeeeeyahh!"

            The occupants of the room rushed to the window only to move back again as a brown-and-gray blur shot into the room. Flapping like mad, Rukka tried to find a suitable place to land. He ended up in a washbasin filled to the brim with water.

            "Kcha! Kchakcha! Trrrreeeeeyah! Gemme outta hirr! Gemme outta hirr!" Rukka screeched. "Gemme outta basin! Me feathers arra alla wetter!"

            Abbess Song scooped up the young bird and wrapped him in a small face towel. Rukka shivered visibly within the towel, his head the only thing that shown underneath the cloth.

            "Who're you, ole chap?" Rayna asked.

            "Rukka norra ole chap!" the chipping sparrow said fiercely, eyes shining. "Rukka lasta kind! Norra nuff sparras o' me sort! Rukkachun Beakblur me name. Rukka Sto'paw's friend. Rukka chippin' sparra!"

            There then was a silence. Runn looked at Wedge, who looked at Painttail, who looked at Rayna, who looked at Rimrose, who looked at the Abbess. Rukka jerked his head around, glancing at the larger creatures in front of him.

            "Wella, wassa waitin' for? Sto'paw needa 'elp! Norra know whatta she wants, bu' she needa you t'come! Rugval Sarrico comin' t'Redwall!"

            That seemed to snap the six creatures out of their shock. The Abbess spoke.

            "Well, if Redwall is on the verge of being attacked, we'll need to get ready. We'll send a few warriors ahead to where our otter friend now stays. Will you lead them?"

            "'Course Rukka will!" the sparrow said impatiently. "Rukka loyal t'Inbar Trueflight an' Grath Longfletch an' Rudd'rin' till the day Rukka die! Onna me aff'davit!"

Abbess Song had explained the situation to the rest of the Abbey at dinnertime. Creatures, young and old, were fidgety. Would this Sarrico character attack during the nighttime, the morning, or the day? Would he attack the next day or the next season?

            Niklur, who was worried not only for the Abbey's safety but for his friend's safety as well, went to bed not fit to sleep. He rolled in bed countless times in a time lapse of three hours. Sleep still didn't come.

            That is, until Nik fell off his bed.

            He blacked out completely as he thudded to the floor and drifted slowly into the ethereal dream world. He was in an open field filled with sweet smelling wildflowers of every color. The sky, a light blue, showed little or no clouds at all. Nik felt calm where he stood in the field, shrouded by the warm sun's light and the cool spring air. Standing before the young squirrel was the legendary Martin the Warrior, clad in armor from ears to footpaws. The great battle sword was thrust into the scabbard tied to Martin's belt. Nik could hardly believe his dream.

            "Martin?" Nik exclaimed in surprise. "Martin the Warrior?"

            Martin smiled. "Yes, 'tis I, Niklur Reguba. I have come to you, just as I did many seasons before when your father was your age. I came to him because it was urgent, and now I've come to you for the same reason."

            "Rugval Sarrico, right?"

            Martin said no more. Though his face remained motionless, his voice seemed to reverberate throughout the field and toward the gray mountains in the distance.

                        "Thou must follow the river of green,

                        And the great stream south,

                        To where the mountains meet the sea,

                        Stop at the dragon's mouth.

                        Fire burns yet contains such life,

                        As those of warriors born,

                        Find the reason of your strife,

                        And defeat him before the morn.

                        Gatehouse otter goes with thee,

                        Same with mountain hare,

                        Born of wind and born of sea,

                        Go with warrior rare.

                        Finally, without one doubt,

                        The sword bearer will wish to go,

                        And follow the strong wind's scout,

                        To the sun-baked shores to meet thy foe."

            Nik's eyes snapped open. The vision of the field and flowers and blue sky and Martin faded instantly and was replaced by the familiar face of his mother. Sitting up like a lightning bolt, Nik yelled, "Mother! Martin came in a dream! He said…he said…oooh, dangit, I forget!"

            Abbess Song wrapped her arms around her son and whispered, "Shh, please be quiet, Nik, or you'll wake the Abbey. Recorder Rimrose wrote it all down, didn't you, Mother?"

            Old Rimrose Swifteye nodded and held up the piece of parchment. She read it out loud to Nik, who wasn't surprised that he'd have to go and help Stormpaw out.

*                      *                      *

            Stormpaw crouched low in the underbrush, watching all activity on the sandy shores in front of her. A black-fletched arrow fitting in her bow, the otter waited. The ocean waves pounded restlessly against the beach, spraying salt water at the vermin among the waves. Twenty-four rats, ferrets, foxes, and weasels labored onerously, repairing the damaged ships as the rest packed vittles and water and prepared to journey.

            There was also one stoat. Dusty brown with a tawny throat color, he wore a simple jerkin with a red silk headband. A cutlass and twin daggers were thrust into his adder-skin belt. One ear was cut right off of his head, but everything else was intact. He was every inch a true corsair, from the attire to the character. He wasn't called Rugval Sarrico the Renegade for nothing.

            "Yew! Addle-brained snot-nosed no good excuse fer a rat! Stop yer moanin' an' 'eave that plank! If'n yeh don't work, then when that un plank's fixed then ye'll be the first un t'walk it!"

            The rat trembled visibly and scurried along with speed born of never-ending fear.

            Stormpaw smiled grimly. She drew the string of her bow taut, took aim at the waddling rat, and fired.

            _Ssssssss_…_thunk_!

            The arrow whizzed through the air and embedded itself in the rat's throat faster than one could blink. The rat gave a sputtered cry and fell, the plank striking his corpse heavily.

            Rugval whirled around to see the rat with the arrow shaft protruding from his throat. Waving his cutlass aloft, the stoat Captain yelled, "Attack whoever's'n those woods!"

            The pirates dropped their packs and repair tools and drew their daggers, cutlasses, and swords. They charged at the leafy green forests and hacked away at branches, ferns, old logs, and even tree trunks. But Stormpaw Swiftwater was already gone, silent as a wraith and swift as as the water.

*                      *                      *

"'Thou must follow the river of green.' That's easy—the River Moss. 'And the great stream south.' 'Nother easy un—the Great South Stream."

            The whole of the Abbey was out and about in the orchards. It was lunchtime, and the day was so cheery that even old Cregga Badgermum, who had recently preferred the indoors, stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. Now, every Abbeybeast was trying to solve both riddles. Some already had and were eager to tell of their interpreting.

            "Let's try to finish the first one before we start on the second, Skipper," Abbess Song interrupted. "Now, the first half we have done. 'Beware the fiery mountain of hell.' What would that be?"

            Painttail's ears perked up. "Wot would that be, m'Abbess marm? Why, the bally 

Salamandastron, o' course! Used t'be a volcano—a mountain that spit fire. Jolly Russano the Wise lives there nowadays. So does the Long Patrol, wot wot!"

            "That explains the third verse. The last two are easy," Brother Lanno said, reading over the parchment with the first rhyme on it. "It means there'll be fighting near Salamandastron or something of the sort."

            "Done with that rhyme, on with the next!" Sister Rosa exclaimed happily. She, unlike most of the Abbey Sisters, loved rhymes, riddles, and adventure.

            Recorder Rimrose unfolded the second piece of parchment. "The first and second verses have to do with the first rhyme. It mentions the two rivers and Salamandastron. And the fighting as well. But the last two…I think Martin chose the ones to go already. Niklur, you look confident today. Tell us what you think."

            Nik patted his grandmother's paw fondly. Then he turned to the other Redwallers. "'Tis simple. 'Gatehouse otter goes with thee—'"

            "Me!" Runn Rivereye yelled suddenly. "I'm the gatehouse otter!"

            "That's right, me good chap," Painttail added. "I goes as well, wot. 'Same with mountain hare.' That's me."

            Niklur glared daggers at them. "I wasn't finished!"

            "So Nik, Runn, an' Paint are goin'," Lunkin concluded. "Wot 'bout the other two?"

            "'Born of wind and born of sea, go with warrior rare,'" Friar Minnle the Infirmary keeper read, taking the parchment from the old Recorder. "What or who are they?"

            "Who's born o' wind an' sea?" Runn wondered, scratching his whiskers and looking up at the leafy boughs of a pear tree.

            "A seagull?" Wedge suggested helpfully.

            "No seagulls 'ere'bouts," Lunkin replied, tossing a ripe red apple lightly.

            Abbess Song recalled something from the back of her mind. "Oh…wait a minute…Mighty Megraw! Born of wind—a bird—and born of sea. It all equals to a fishing eagle!"

            Dann nodded in agreement. "But Megraw's not here. He rarely ever visits nowadays."

            Rukka pecked at a pear, which he held in his talons. Looking up from his food, he said, "Rukka finda fishin' h'eagle forra Sto'paw's friends."

            "I suggest you don't," the Abbess intervened. "You'd be slain on sight."

            "Rukka norra 'fraid o' water 'awk, Abbess marm! You justa see me! Rukka comin' back wi' Megraw!"

            Sister Rayna shook her head. "Sorry, ole chap. Wot the Abbess says, yeh follow."

            "Rukka norra ole chap!!"

            The Cellarhog, Puntik, thought for a moment. He scanned the lawns, watching everything moving. The pond caught his keen eye. Kippit and some Dibbuns were sailing makeshift rafts. Guddle was resting on shore with a few other molebabes, too afraid of water to venture on it. Tibbin was desperately clinging to one of the rafts' masts. It seemed that out of all the Dibbuns on the rafts, Kippit was the one brave enough to sail. A swift gust of wind was collected in the square canvas sails and the rafts moved forward. The Dibbuns other than Kippit wailed in surprise. The young squirrel only yelled in glee.

            "C'mon, cowards, brighten up! I not afraid o' water, an' you liddle cowards shouldn't either!" the squirrelbabe told the others.

            "We cowids, Kippit!" a hogbabe squealed helplessly.

            Puntik interrupted Sister Rosa, who wasn't against allowing Rukka to find Megraw. The hedgehog held up a paw and spoke.

            "I think I found our wind 'n' sea-born liddle 'venturer, mateys," Puntik said. He pointed with his other paw at Kippit. "That liddle tyke looks fit t'sail."

            Dann and Abbess Song exchanged worried looks. Dann shook his head. "Little Kipp's too young. He'd die in battle before he could blink."

            Niklur suddenly sat up. "Dad, Mum, _I_ will look after Kipp. He's my brother, and if Martin says he must go, he goes."

            The Mother Abbess nodded slowly. "If Martin says, then so be it."

            Dann hesitated. "I…guess I agree," Dann added, hugging his wife tightly.

            "That's all settled," Rimrose said softly. "But who is the 'warrior rare'?"

            Runn looked at the old Recorder with a strange expression on his face. "Dunno why, marm, but I 'ave a feelin' we don't need t'find 'er. The warrior rare…I think 'tis Stormpaw. 'Sides, the rhyme never said nothin' 'bout all five bein' Redwallers. So I think we've found our five. Me, Nik, Painttail, Kippit, an' Storm."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The next morning, a heavy mist enshrouded the Abbey and the whole of Mossflower. The four chosen for the trip shouldered haversacks of food and equipment. Rukkachun, eager for adventure, hopped about on the limb of a tree near the main gates. Good luck and advice were said before the travelers set on their adventure.

            "Oh Nik, take care of yourself and Kippit. Don't die or anything, and don't let Kipp get slain."

            "Don't make such a fuss over it, Mum. Kipp and I will be fine."

            "Hurr, doan't eat t'much, zurr Pointtoil."

            "Oh, I'll jolly well try not to, wot. G'bye, Guddle."

            "Knock 'em dead, Mista Runn! Good luckers t'ya, Kipp."

            "I will, messmate. I'll knock an extra un jus' fer you."

            "Thanks, Tibbin. Don't get into trouble. If'n you do, Mother Cregga skelps your tail! Heeheehee!"

            Rukka flew from his branch and landed on Nik's shoulder. "Kchakcha! Come onna now. Sto'paw norra waitin' any longer! Lessa gooooo!"

            With that, Rukka took off. The four Redwallers went after him, following the River Moss southwards. The others watched them run, yelling the time-honored war cry of the Abbey.

            "Redwaaaaaaaall!"

*                      *                      *

A day of running went by quickly. The group was halfway to Salamandastron at the moment. Counting their good fortunes, they huddled around a small fire, preparing supper.

            "Wot ho, chaps, look!" Painttail exclaimed suddenly. He pointed to a shadowy figure limping behind some ferns.

            "What could it be?" Nik wondered, stirring the small pot of soup.

            "A pore traveler, mayhaps?" Runn growled, a paw slowly moving towards the otter javelin hidden underneath some bracts. "Or a scoundrel an' a vermin?"

            The creature hobbled warily into the campsite. It was an old frail mouse, seasons and seasons of traveling weighing down upon his worn footpaws and small shoulders. Behind him came three young ones. The first and obviously the oldest was another mouse, around five seasons old. The second was a hogbabe, younger than the little mouse by a season. The last one—the smallest and the youngest—was a little female leveret.

            "Great seasons!" Nik exclaimed when he saw the four. "An old mouse and three young ones. Sit down, old sir, and rest your paws."

            "Thank you, young squirrel," the mouse said hoarsely. The mouse, clad only in a frayed cloak held securely by a rope around his waist, set down his walking stick and sat on the ground by the fire. "My name's Ralar Creekhawn. Ooh…seasons of walking sure put a cramp in my back. Yowch! Stop poking me, Pinidap!"

            The young hedgehog stuck his tongue out at the old mouse. "Mamma an' Papa no here!"

            The mouse squinted fiercely at the hedgehog. "Introduce yourself to our new friends."

            Turning around to face the four, the hedgehog said, "Good day, sirs. I be Pinidap Spikeback. Mamma an' Pappa Spikley an' Lunkin."

            The young mouse saluted to the four. "I'm Verleaf Creekhawn, grandson of Ralar, son of Darrial and Lili."

            He nudged the tiny leveret next to him. She twitched her nose. "I Filian Starcot o' Sal'man'st'on, wot. Pap 'n' gran Tammo an' Pasque."

            Nik, Runn, and Painttail had perked up to the name Lunkin, and Painttail jumped up to the names Tammo and Pasque. They continued with the introductions anyway.

            "Niklur Reguba. Son o' Dannflor an' Song Reguba."

            "Runn Rivereye. I can't 'member me parents that well. They died when I was on'y a liddle babe."

            "Painttail, sahs an' gel. Painttail Tussock, son o' Tammo an' Pasque."

            Filian perked up this time. She jumped up and ran to the older hare. "Ukkle Painttail, sah, 'tis me, Filian!"

            "How did you find them, Ralar?" Nik asked the old mouse, handing him a bowl of soup.

            "Oh, I was on one of my quests again. Verleaf loved adventure like I did and came with me. After a few seasons, we found Pinidap wailing like mad. Bless his heart, he was separated from his parents. His mother died while trying to ward off vermin. His father had told her to take care of Pinidap while he went to fight them. They escaped a back way but ran into another mob of rats and weasels and such. Pinidap was thrown into the bushes, but his mother never made it. The howl of agony that escaped his mother's throat when she was slain was the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness. We picked him up, he told us what had happened, and now we're off to find some place to live. I'm getting to old to wander now."

            "What 'bout 'er?" Runn asked, gesturing to Filian, who sat on Painttail's lap, licking a bowl of soup dry.

            "She's from Salamandastron, the mountain stronghold of the Badger Lords. This time it's Lord Russano the Wise. Filian's an orphan as well. Her grandparents, Tammo and Pasque De Fformello Tussock, raised her. They're still there, you know. Verleaf, Pinidap, and I visited there and Filian loved us to death. She stowed away in our haversack and ate one fourth of our rations! Anyhow, that's how she came to be with us."

            The three adults glanced at each other. Then Painttail told Ralar, "Y'say Pinidap's pater was an 'edge'og named Lunkin? Why, we jolly well know 'im! He resides at Redwall now. Would y'like t'go there?" 

            "Oh, bless my aching paws, yes! I have heard tales of Redwall from many. I have heard of its grandness and its fine banquets. Is it true many forms of evil have come to conquer it in the past, but Redwall stood strong, sheltering the old and young and letting its grand warriors fight? Oh, I'd love to live there. My old bones aren't fit for traveling any more. Why…"

            Verleaf whispered in Runn's ear, "Don't worry too much about granpa. He's a babbler and loves to talk and listen to stories as much as he likes to travel. Someday, when the time comes, he'll be telling stories to his great-great-great-great-great granbabes."

            Runn tried to hide a grin. "I don't think yore ancient un 'ere'll live _that_ long."

            Nik was busy explaining to Ralar their situation. The old mouse listened carefully, eating some extra rations the travelers had. When the squirrel had finished, it was well into midnight. The little ones were sound asleep and the fire was down to almost nothing.

            "So you're telling me you're off to fight a war? Against how many?"

            "We 'ave no blinkin' clue, sah," Painttail replied.

            Rukka suddenly appeared by the fire, holding his wings out to the fire to warm them. The chipping sparrow jerked his head around like usual, looking at the newcomers.

            "Who ole mouseybist?" Rukka asked Nik.

            "Rukkachun Beakblur, meet Ralar Creekhawn, his granson Verleaf, an' their friends Pinidap Spikeback an' Filian Starcot."

            Rukka ignored the babes and hopped over to Ralar. The bird retorted, "Yousa ole mousey. Norra fight? Warra comin' soon." Rukka then hopped back to Nik, Runn, and Painttail and informed them of news. "Sto'paw killad five 'ordebists arready. Rugval lucky stoatbist. Norra killad yet. Sarrico gather morra fighters. Two 'undred now, Rukka thinks."

            Nik's eyes widened in shock. "Two hundred vermin? I can't believe it! First 'tis a shipfull, now 'tis a forest full! Where'll we get more fighters?"

            Painttail waved a paw dismissively at the squirrel. "Where? Why, the bally Salamandastron, wot! The Long Patrol—me pride an' joy, wot! Was Colonel afore I met Rayna. Then I came t'the Abbey. Y'know, I'm sure Lord Russ'd fancy me returnin' t'find an army, wot wot!"

            "But does Salamandastron 'ave 'nough warriors?"

            Ralar shook his head. "No. It's too small a patrol for two hundred hordebeasts. Any more useful ideas, though?"

            Slapping his tail upon the ground, Runn told Rukka, "Rukkachun, find Skipper at Redwall. Ask 'im t'tell yeh the exact location o' Creekstar's, Lurrana's, an' Portred's holts. Then contact all three an' tell Creekstar, Lurrana, an' Portred that Runn Rivereye sent yeh. Me ole brothers an' sister'll 'member me, I 'ope."

            Rukka was off in a flash without further delay.

            Nik watched the chipping bird fly off in the black of night, then turned, grinning, to his otter friend. "Also hope that Luna won't be all over you when you next visit."

            Runn shuddered. "No, messmate, don' remind me o' Luna. _Please_ don't. That young un's more o' a nuisance than anythin' else." The big otter shuddered again.

            Ralar, Runn, and Painttail went swiftly to sleep after that. Nik poked the fire to help rekindle it, then he too went to sleep.

*                      *                      *

Pawpike leaned casually against the rock window sill of his quarters. The young hare stared longingly down at the sandy and rock-strewn beach surrounding Salamandastron. Down near the base of the mountain, Lieutenant Tammello De Fformello Tussock, old as he was, busily instructed a group of new recruits for the Long Patrol. Pawpike's older brother, Earlop, and older sister, Lin, were two hares amongst the ten recruits, being they were old enough to sign up.

            Sighing heavily, Pawpike left the window and flopped down on his bed. His greatest wishes were to join the Long Patrol, no matter what he had to do, but his father had always told him that he was too young. That is, before he died, leaving Earlop, Lin, Pawpike, and their little sister Filian as orphans.

            A sharp rap on the door brought Pawpike to reality.

            "Who is it?" he asked whomever was on the other side of the door.

            "'Tis me, Paws. Why, doncha recognize yer ole bally comrade, wot?" the otherbeast replied.

            Pawpike smiled half-heartedly. "Y'can come in, Dune."

            The female hare opened the door, stepped inside, and shut the door silently. Dunelily, or Dune for short, had been Pawpike's old playmate since they were tiny leverets. Now the two were inseperable partners, both in scoffing food and in short practice battles.

            "Oy, Paws, why the blinkin' sad look? Lack a day, y'look beaten out o' yore skins!"

            "Aye, I 'ave been. Earlop 'n' Lin are down there." Pawpike gestured to the open window. "I'd absoballylutely love t'join the Long Patrol, Dune. Y'think y'can 'elp sign me up, wot?"

            Dune laughed uproariously at the question. Pawpike waited patiently for his friend to stop laughing, frowning the whole time.

            "Wot's so flippin' funny, Dune?"

            The female hare buffeted her friend's ear lightly. "C'mon, Pawpike, doncha get silly on me now, wot wot! Y'know the bally Long Patrol's got more 'ares in its paws than yeh'll ever get wallnuts in the thing 'twixt yer ears y'call a brain."

            "That was mean," Pawpike said insolently.

            Dunelily smiled warmingly. She took her friend's arm with her paw. "C'mon, y'liddle rascal, up on yore paws. Lieutenant Tammo wants a word with you."

            "Granpa Tammo wants ter talk with me?" Pawpike jumped delightedly at the statement. "Oooh, Long Patrol time, m'gel! Lead me to him, wot!"

Lieutenant Tammo stared stonily at the ten young hares standing in a single file line, facing him. The old veteran was still in the Long Patrol due to his expert fighting abilities. It didn't matter whether he was old, and he had sworn he would die fighting, not of old age or of sickness. A changed hare since his encounter with the Rapscallions, the Lieuteneant was now the head of the Long Patrol.

            "Kirp, don't slouch. Hold that pike straight, wot," the Lieutenant rapped swiftly. "Lin, footpaws t'gether. Frizfoll, don't just stand there mindin' yore bloomin' business, act like a soldier!"

            The youngest of the Long Patrol recruits trembled slightly. He stiffened, reaching his full height without standing on tip-paw, grasping his lance handle tightly.

            "Don't hurt y'self, wot," Lieutenant Tammo added, twirling his old battle-scarred dirk in his paws.

            Frixfoll nodded and relaxed, keeping his posture straight.

            At that moment, Pawpike and Dunelily came running as fast as they could. Dunelily was in the lead, and she stopped immediately in front of the old officer, throwing a smart salute. Pawpike, not as quick as his friend, skidded to a halt but was too late. He bumped into her and the two crashed upon the sand at Tammo's footpaws. The Lieutenant looked down at the two.

            "Right on time, m'gel an' m'laddo. Up on yore paws, wot, let's go," he ordered.

            Dune stood up first, threw another salute, and dismissed herself, knowing she was not needed anymore. Pawpike awkwardly got to his paws and saluted as well, though he was flushed red to his eartips with embarrassment; some of the recruits' giggles had not been stifled.

            "Pawpike reportin' fer duty, sah!" the young hare told his grandfather, trembling slightly.

            Lieutenant Tammo raised an eyebrow at Pawpike. "So, y'think yore ole granpa sent yeh out 'ere t'do somethin'?"

            Pawpike hesitated. He then nodded slowly. "Er, yessah."

            A slow smile appeared upon the Lieutenant's face. "Well, yeh'll have t'prove y'self first, m'laddie buck. I know yer young, but Lord Russ wants more flippin' recruits. He says there'll be a great bally war, wot, but we'll win. Us an' Redwall."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Rage filled Rugval Sarrico as another one of his crewbeasts fell to a black-feathered arrow.

            "Wot is goin' on 'ere?!" the stoat roared, grabbing a nearbly ferret by the back of his neck. "Yew! Frogface! Wot's 'appenin'?"

            "Yeeeergh!" the ferret wailed unhappily. "Er, dunno, Cap'n, bu' I counted fifteen o' ours gone. The two 'undred o' yores are puttin' up great defenses though, heh." Laughing nervously, the ferret gulped as Rugval glared fiercly at him. The stoat corsair then threw the crewbeast aside and waved his cutlass in the air.

            Sarrico snarled and let go of the ferret. "Hungh. All right, crew. Half o' yew addlebrains keep on repairin'. The rest o' yew lot—git packin'! We leave 'morrow at noon!"

            Sarrico was lucky. As he let the paw holding the cutlass drop to his side, another arrow whizzed at him, bounced harmlessly off the cutlass blade, and buried itself in the footpaw of an unfortunate weasel. The verminous rodent squealed in pain, let go of the heavy plank he was holding high above his head in an attempt to massage his damaged footpaw, and ended up being knocked unconscious by the plank as it came whoosing down in his head. Another arrow rid the weasel of his life.

            A shiplength away, a mob of two hundred foxes gathered around large campfires, away from the slaughter. Queen Nerygia, a pure black female fox, taller and stronger than all of the foxes in her five different tribes (except her mate, who agreed to let her rule as long as he was second-in-command), sat regally on a flat beige rock, roasting a bird-on-a-stick. Her five tribes—the Ragfur, the Rockshade, the Nightblack, the Clawfist, and the Arkenjaw—laughed and joked around the fires, calling rude things at the crewbeasts and at Rugval Sarrico. Nerygia herself called the stoat "a snot-nosed, sword-swiped, salt-furred arrow target." Sarrico had to vent out his anger by slaying the nearest fox, causing the anger to rise in the fox's tribe, the Arkenjaw. Though Nerygia was head of all tribes, she didn't seem to care whether or not Sarrico had slain the fox or not. After all, she _did_ have two hundred and her main priority _was_ the Nightblack.

            "Look at him, wasting his time on repairing that water-logged mess of wood he calls a ship," Nerygia growled smugly. For a fox who had been living in Mossflower all her life, the Queen was very refined in speaking. Otherwise, she was just as savage as the rest of the clans' foxes.

            "Aye, he's too dimwitted to realize he can't fight an invisible enemy! Hahaha!" the Queen's mate, Xeroedge, agreed, nodding as he tore at another roasted bird. He too was another refinely-speaking fox.

            Nerygia smiled craftily, patting Xeroedge's paw fondly. "'Tis true, Xero. But we can, can't we, my strong and brave assailant?"

            Xeroedge grinned toothily, matching his wife in every baneful aspect. "Aye, my pretty, we can! Sarrico's too high in his tree. We'll cut him down and then take everything for ourselves!"

            Again, Nerygia smiled. She, Queen Nerygia of the Xerogia tribes, would soon conquer not only Redwall but all of Mossflower as well!

            She would soon betray the betrayer…

*                      *                      *

Salamandastron—the fire mountain. It stood proud and tall against the bright sunrise and the dark forest. Rays of sunlight poured like melted butter over the trees, the rocks, the underbrush, the sand, and the ocean. Creatures stirred from their beds, night animals returned to their homes, and everywhere, peace reigned.

            Except in the dining hall of the great mountain.

            Lord Russano, used to the major scoffing of the food in the dining hall three times a day, ate contendedly while the hares around him didn't give a thought about table manners.

            "Oooh! Is that a bally 'uge pan o' pudden, wot? Me fav'rite!"

            "It's fer dessert, y'liddle flea-infested scoundrel, git off it!"

            "Damson pudden! Yum!"

            "Pass me the jolly summer salad! Oh, I say, good show, wot!"

            "Yaaaaagh! Wot did ya do that for?!"

            Pawpike ate his food like a thunderbolt striking the ground. Dunelily watched in amazement at her friend; he had never eaten that fast before. Sure, he had won a few scoffing contests, but never had he eaten the food piled high on his plate quicker than she could even finish _half_ of hers.

            "Paws, wot 'appened yest'day?" Dune asked, still staring awestruck at the younger hare. "Y'were all gloomy, now yer eatin' like there's no 'morrow!"

            Pawpike looked up from his food. "Aye, maybe there won't be, m'gel!"

            Dune shook her head. "I don't unnerstand. Wot's all this 'bout?"

            The younger hare puffed out his chest, and replied proudly, "I'm part o' the jolly Long Patrol, wot!"

            Dunelily clapped her paws in congratulations to her friend. "Oh, good show there, Paws! Y'can show 'em wot fightin's all 'bout, wot."

            "Yup. An' me trainin' starts t'day, m'gel."

            Lieutenant Tammo walked by, staggering under a large plate of food.

            "Mornin', Lieutenant, sah," Pawpike and Dune greeted the old hare in unison. Tammo sat down between the two and gently placed his plate in front of him.

            "Why, g'mornin' t'you liddle uns, wot," the old Lieutenant replied. He turned to his grandson. "Pawpike, I want you t'git ready as soon as y'can. Lord Russano says me an' six others are takin' a hike t'Redwall Abbey. Ho, you'd like t'go there, m'laddo, wot. Y'should see the tucker they 'ave! Any'ow, I'm choosin' you, Earlop, Lin, Frizfoll, Cap'n Quickpaw, an' Medi-hare Liana. We're leavin' aft'r brekkist. Got it?"

            "Yessah, granpa—er, Lieutenant, sah!" Pawpike replied, saluting.

            "Good."

*                      *                      *

Rukka flitted carefully from branch-to-branch, watching a lone male otter, quite young in age, swim effortlessly in the water. The chipping sparrow knew the otter was from Lurrana's holt. Creekstar's and Portred's holts had been visited already, and they were on their way to help. Lurrana's holt, as Creekstar, brother of Runn, had told Rukka, was hidden away underneath a large amount of vegetation. Only otters knew how to get there, but, if somebeast follows an otter marked on his right paw with an "L" with a javelin through it, then that otter would return to an inconspicuous pile of underbrush and disappear beneath it.

            The chipping sparrow watched as the young male otter looked around cautiously, then slipped beneath the surface. Though he would have looked invisible to anybeast on the shore, Rukka could see the otter quite clearly, swimming underneath the bracts and disappearing behind them.

            Rukkachun sighed. Water wasn't his thing, but he was willing to do it anyway. He flew to and landed on the pile of vegetation and found a hole big enough to squeeze through. Rukka inched his way through the hole and flapped madly to stay above the water. In the dim light, Rukka could see the large opening at the end of the tunnel.

            The young male otter, Sandtail, shot out of the water and landed on the dry dirt floor of the immense cave. Lurrana, Queen of the holt, sat atop a carved wooden chair in front of the fire.

            "Ev'rythin's fine, Mum," Sandtail told Lurrana.

            His mother looked hard at him. "Yeh cheeky thing, I'm Yore Majesty, not Mum!"

            Sandtail grinned. "'Kay." Then he added as an afterthought, "Mum."

            All of a sudden, Rukka shot out of the tunnel, yelping in surprise as he sped through the large fire in the center of the cave unintentionally. Flapping like a mad bird, Rukka skimmed the surface of a bowl of water, his tail feathers almost on fire.

            "Yaaaaargh! Rukka burnin'! 'Elp!" the chipping sparrow pleaded. Lurrana jumped from her chair, caught the sparrow, and quickly dunked him in the river. He rose from the water, sputtering and flapping feebly, still clutched in the otter Queen's paw.

            "Gerra offa me, riv'rdog!" Rukka ordered. "Rukka norra time fer play!"

            Queen Lurrana let go of the aggressive bird, who landed on the floor and spread his water-soaked wings in a bow.

            "Yore Majesty, Rukka comin' in time o' warra. Runn Riv'reye needa 'elp. Rugval Sarrico wi' two 'undred verminbists a-comin' t'Mossflo'r. He gonna starta warra. Redwall needa protectin'. Warra needa fought. Rukka norra know 'ow turn out, but Rukka thinks us'n's win!"

            "You are Rukka?" Lurrana asked.

            "Me Rukkachun Beakblur, aye."

            "Yeh said me brother need me, didn't yeh?"

            "Aye. Runn an' friendbists needa 'elp."

            Lurrana turned to her holt, which had gathered due to the curious little bird. "Me brother Runn needs our 'elp. Old uns an' young uns, stay 'ere. Quitin, take ten o' yore best fighters an' stay 'ere t'protect old an' young alike. Ravawar, take the rest o' 'em an' foller me. Sandtail? Yeh should foller Quitin's orders. Yer not goin' this time, son, or else ye'd be slain."

            Sandtail frowned.

            In no time at all, Lurrana, Ravawar, and the rest of the fighters were off, following Rukka through Mossflower.

            "Creekstar an' Portred comin' too?" Lurrana asked the bird.

            "Aye, marm, aye. Creekstar tol' Rukka wherra find ya."

            Lurrana was about to say something when Luna, one of the scouts, rushed towards her. "Yore Majesty, Creekstar an' Portred up a'ead waitin' fer us."

            "Well then, let's go," the otter Queen retorted. She held her javelin in the air, jerked a point to the side, and soon all otters were racing towards their fellow holts.

*                      *                      *

Nik, Runn, Painttail, Ralar, and the young ones were up and about since early that morning. Breakfast was done, the campsite was packed, and they were of to Salamandastron.

            "Are yeh up to it, mate?" Runn asked Ralar as the old mouse hobbled onward.

            "Oh, I'll be fine, Runn. Just get me to Salamandastron and I'll be fine," Ralar replied.

            Meanwhile, the young ones, except Kippit, were staring in awe at Martin's sword. The legendary battleblade was usually strapped securely on Nik's back, but at the moment, the warrior squirrel held it out to show the little creatures.

            "Oooh! Bigga sword!" Pinidap exclaimed, eyes full of curiosity.

            "Who's?" Filian asked, pointing at the legendary blade.

            "This sword belonged to Martin, the great Warrior of Redwall," Nik replied. "He's dead now, but his memory lives on in the Abbey."

            Verleaf nodded. "I think I've heard of Martin the Warrior afore. My great-great-granpa told my great-granpa about him, and then my great-granpa told my granpa, then my granpa told my dad, then my dad told me."

            "Martin was the bravest warrior ever. He freed Mossflower from the clutches of Tsarmina Greeneyes, a wildcat. Then Redwall was built atop of Kotir, the castle of Tsarmina. Martin's sword was then handed down to many other warriors. Arven, a squirrel like myself, my father Dann, and so many others from the past."

            Nik continued talking about the history of Redwall, explaining it to Verleaf, Pinidap, and Filian. The three were so engrossed in what Nik was saying they didn't bother looking where they were going. In fact, it was because of this that Verleaf fell into a well-covered pitfall with a fast-flowing underwater river at the bottom.

            "Verleaf!" Ralar exclaimed as his grandson fell, squealing with fright, into the waters.

            "Don't worry, messmate, ole Runn'll git yeh out o' there!" the big otter yelled, diving head-first into the underground river.

            "Runn!" Nik and Painttail shouted in unison. Painttail, who was grasping Nik's shoulder, slipped suddenly and fell into the pitfall as well. His squirrel friend yelped in dismay as he too was pulled into the current due to the hare's desperate grab for the thick bushy squirrel tail.

            Ralar, Filian, and Pinidap had to restrain a struggling, biting, kicking Kippit from jumping into the water after his brother. The squirrelbabe fought like a madbeast, escaped their grasp, and willingly hurtled himself down, yelling, "Niiiiiik!"

            Pinidap sighed. He turned to Filian, who nodded grimly. Grasping the hedgehog's paw, Filian made for the pit.

            "Oh no you don't!" Ralar warned. "I'm not going in there after you."

            Filian and Pinidap grinned. The leveret told the old mouse, "Then, sah, y'll might come down da bally 'ole wiv us'n's, wot."

            Before Ralar could reply, Filian grabbed his paw and jumped down the hole with the two clinging onto her. They were squealing with delight, except Ralar, who was in fright, yelling, "I'm too old for thiiiiiiiiss!!"

Verleaf gasped for breath as his head broke the surface of the rapidly flowing river. The young mouse was pushed underneath once again and was pinned against the jagged floor of the river. He knew there was no escaping now as he was fastened between two rocks.

            Minutes passed slowly as Verleaf began to lose consciousness. Air bubbles gradually escaped his mouth and nostrils, forcing him into suffocation.

            A sudden thud shook the rocks that had Verleaf pinned. Something brown, sleek, and powerful pushed the two rocks aside, grabbed the young mouse's limp body, and swam upwards, towards the surface. Verleaf was thrown onto the uneven bank as the brown thing dove back into the water. In no time at all, the rest of the group was unearthed from the icy depths.

            Verleaf choked and sputtered as powerful paws thumped his chest. Water sprayed unbidden from his throat as he was gradually revitalized. His vision, though blurred, came back, as well as his life.

            "Verleaf!" Ralar exclaimed, relieved. He hugged his grandson fondly, nearly squeezing the air out of the young mouse's lungs.

            "Granpa!" Verleaf yelled hoarsely. "Lemme go!"

            Ralar let go of Verleaf but stuck the mousebabe close to him, covering him with an extra cloak.

            "Whew!" Nik, who sat nearby, said. The squirrel warrior wrung the water from his tail as he continued. "That was something, eh Paint?"

            The hare shook the water from his fur, showering droplets on his friends. "Aye, Nik, that ole waterdog sure can swim!"

            The "ole waterdog" Painttail had been referring to sat a good distance away from the others in the shadows of the bank of what seemed like an underground lake, gasping for breath. His jerkin, torn from the rocks and drenched with freezing cold water, clung to his brown and beige fur. The creature was a fearsome sight, even if he was tired. A long scar ran down his blind left eye as green, blue, and red streaks criscrossed his face. A cutlass, long and sharp, was thrust into the toad-skin belt that held an assortment of other weapons: a sling and stonepouch, three daggers, and an axe.

            Kippit, Filian, and Pinidap, who were just waking up, noticed the fearsome creature and cowered behind Nik and Painttail. Verleaf and Ralar stuck close to their friends, unsure whether this new arrival wasn't as scary as he looked.

            "Who are you?" Ralar demanded.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note_: Rukka seems to calm down when dunked in water. Did you readers notice that? Not that it's important…

—————

Chapter Seven

The creature, obviously an otter, stared hard at the group. Fangs bared, he staggered to his footpaws and grasped the handle of his cutlass. Instinctively, Nik drew his sword, which had been placed in its scabbard on his back immediately before the incident.

            "Oh, yeh don't 'ave t'be 'fraid, mateys," a familiar voice rang out from somewhere. "'Tis on'y Iceblade."

            Runn, soaked to the bone as well, appeared from the shadows next to the scarred otter, grinning nonchalantly.

            "Runn!" everybeast but the strange otter exclaimed happily.

            Still smiling, Runn placed a paw on his companion's shoulder. "Ev'rybeast, meet Iceblade. He lives 'ere an' created that pitfall fer wand'rin' travellers like usselves in case they need anythin', like food or drink, coz he doesn't like goin' 'bove ground. Don't git inter a fight with 'im, though—ye'll most likely end up dead!"

            "Why?" Verleaf asked, confused.

            Silence followed as Runn thought of an answer to that question. He didn't want to reveal the truth to the young ones.

            "Uh, well—"

            Iceblade held up a gnarled right paw in the air to signal silence. Filian gave an involuntary shudder, not only at the paw, but at the voice of the old otter.

            "Don't tell 'em lies, Runn," Iceblade said, harsh and surly. "Tell 'em th'truth."

            "Can they 'andle the truth?" Runn asked.

            "They're tough beasts t'survive that river. They're tough 'nough t'survive th'truth." Iceblade shot Runn a severe look. "Or are yeh too timid t'tell 'em?"

            "No," the younger otter said defensively. He turned to his friends, shot them a sad look, then stated, "Iceblade was raised by vermin aft'r 'is fam'ly was slain. Pore thing, he was raised t'kill 'eartlessly. Legend says he met 'nother otter, married, an' 'ad kids, but legend also says he killed 'em all."

            Ralar shook his head slowly. "What a pity. But legends aren't always true."

            "Lest th'legend 'imself wrote it," Iceblade growled. "Then agin, legends c'n lie, tho' I don't promote lyin'."

            Nik shrugged. "Forget lying. Are you a goodbeast or a bad one?"

            Iceblade grinned toothily. "Depends on yore point o' view, bushtail. I c'n be good _or_ bad." The scarred otter waved a dismissive paw. "C'mon, yeh young rips an' ole un. Tigerlily'll be yellin' 'er 'ead off at me when she sees yeh all wet 'n' cold."

            As Iceblade disappeared into the shadows, Niklur watched him, glaring furiously. "_Bushtail_?!"

Kaleena sat carefully in a tree in the orchard. She looked around at the Abbey and its lawns, watching for any unusual behavior. It seemed no one was watching her, so she slunk off across the ramparts, keeping an eye out for anything.

            But quick-witted as she was, Kaleena could not see the old Badger Mother of the Abbey in front of her. She bumped into Mother Cregga, who was assisting Brother Lanno in delivering lunch to the east wallguards.

            "Oof!" Cregga exclaimed, almost dropping the plate of scones she had in her massive paw. "Who bumped into me?"

            Kaleena quickly dodged back into a nearby tree, but not before being seen. Dann, who had been one of the wallguards, quickly jumped into the same tree, 

grabbed the newcomer's tail, and yanked hard. Kaleena gave a sharp cry.

            "Yaaaaaahhhh!"

            Dann forced the creature down onto the stone floor of the rampart. Snarling, he ordered, "What are you doing here, fox?"

            Kaleen whimpered. "Oh, please don't hurt me!" she wailed. "I-I'm only a poor traveller a-and I've been looking f-for a place to stay."

            Skipper lifted up the fox's chin with the point of his javelin. "Yeh say yer on'y a pore traveller, eh fox? Then wot d'ye call _that_?" He pointed to a dagger hidden expertly underneath the fox's cloak.

            Eyes darting everywhere, looking for a place to escape to, Kaleena replied, "Er, er, a traveller's got to protect herself, right?"

            Brother Lanno peered from behind Cregga. He pointed to a tattoo on the fox's left forearm. "Lookit, something's on her arm. It says 'Clawfist' with a fox skull underneath it."

            Kaleena whirled around, tugging free from Dann's grasp. She snapped at Brother Lanno, fangs bared. "Shuddap, mousey, or I'll shut your yapping mouth for you!"

            The fat mouse squeaked and once again hid behind Cregga. Though she was blind, the Bloodwrath could still possess the former Badger Lady of Salamandastron. Grabbing the fox roughly with one paw, Cregga pinned Kaleena against the parapet.

            "Nobeast talks like that within the walls of the Abbey!" the badger roared. "Especially when there's a badger mother as well! I may be blind, but I don't tolerate vermin like yourself within my Abbey walls!"

            Without warning, Cregga hurtled the fox out into Mossflower Woods. Kaleena's shrill shriek could be heard far and wide as she flung past tall trees of all sorts. Branches whipped at her face and body, scratching and stinging her, but fortunately for the fox, a thick one caught her in the stomach, saving her from death.

            _I must get back to Queen Nerygia_, Kaleena thought silently to herself as she hobbled along, heading south and west. _She will want to know about these warriors_.

Iceblade was right in telling the travellers that his wife, Tigerlily, would yell her head of at him for leaving visitors drenched in the river water.

            "Those young uns could've _died_ in that freezin' water! Y'could've frightened 'em t'death as well!" Tigerlily chided Iceblade, alternating between cooking hotroot soup, baking scones, and making tea. "Time an' time agin I've told you t'wash those tattoos off, but nooo, you _had_ t'keep 'em on jus' coz legend says you'll never take 'em off! If I had the time, I would take y'down to the river an' wash those off you, no matter how long it'd take me!"

            Tigerlily kept on scolding her husband. Kippit, Filian, Pinidap, and Iceblade's two otterbabes, Frostpaw and Thornrose, scampered about, playing tag, while Verleaf helped Ralar feel comfortable in the main chamber. Runn, Nik, and Painttail sat at the table in the kitchen, stifling their laughter as they drank their rosehip tea. Iceblade just sat with them, staring with a blank expression at the opposite wall.

            Tigerlily concluded her rant with: "An' for the last time, stop starin' at the wall when I'm talkin' t'you!"

            Silence, except for the scampering and delightful squealing of the babes in the other room, followed.

            "ICEBLADE!!"

            The scarred half-blind otter turned his head to see his wife clearly. "Hmm? I'm sorry, me pretty flow'r, I wasn't list'nin'. Wot did yer say?"

            As Tigerlily threw up her paws in exasperation, Nik, Painttail, and Runn burst out laughing.

            "Oh, good show, wot!" Painttail exclaimed, patting Iceblade on the shoulder. "Y'surely showed 'er why yer called Iceblade the bally Mercenary! Give 'er the cold should'r, wot."

            Iceblade cocked his head at the hare. "'Iceblade th'bally Mercenary?'"

            This caused more uproarious laughter among them. Tigerlily just rolled her eyes and continued tending to the food.

            When the laughter subsided, they all entered the main chamber and ate their meal. Painttail, being a hare, gobbled anything he could lay his paws on, whether it was the spicy hotroot soup or crisp summer salad. The otterbabes were amazed at how fast he could eat and were continuously offering him food.

            "'Ere ya go mista Paint. Can ya eat thatta 'otroot soup?"

            "Oh, I'll try, m'gel."

            "'Ow 'bout thissa st'awb'rry pie, mista Paint?"

            "'And it 'ere, m'laddie buck, wot!"

            As the male otterbabe, Frostpaw, reached for the pie to hand to Painttail, Tigerlily buffeted his paw with a fork. "Frostpaw, don't make the pore 'are eat t'death."

            The young otter pouted. "Bu' Muvva, he likes it."

            Thornrose sided with her brother. "Aye, Muvva, mista Paint likes eatin'. 'E's a nat'ral barrelbelly."

            Painttail sprayed rosehip tea from his nose at the comment. "Wheeze me! A barrelbelly, eh, liddle Thornrose? I'll show yeh barrelbelly!" The hare gestured to Filian, who was busy slurping up a large bowl of hotroot soup and scoffing a meadowcream-filled scone at the same time. Frostpaw and Thornrose giggled.

            Nik tasted some hotroot soup and made a face. "No offense, marm, but this soup tastes rather spicy."

            Tigerlily nodded. "Aye, 'tis 'otroot soup, Nik. It's s'posed t'be spicy!"

            Making another face, Nik handed his soup to Painttail. "Uh, then no thanks, marm, coz I'm not one who likes to drink spicy stuff."

            Once again nodding, the female otter handed Nik some summer salad to replace the soup. The squirrel was about to take a bite when, seemingly out of nowhere, something landed hard on his head and bounced onto the table.

            "Rukka?!" Nik, Painttail, and Runn exclaimed loudly.

            It was, in fact, the chipping sparrow, hopping about madly on the table top.

            "Kchakcha!" Rukka exclaimed. "Creekstar, Portred, an' Lurrana a-comin' t'helpa us'n's. Sal'man'stron norra farraway now. Rukka sees 'arebists onna mount'n."

            Painttail nodded. "Righto, ole chap, wot."

            "Rukka norra ole chap!" the bird snapped, lunging at Painttail. Rukkachun, flapping angrily, started pecking and tearing at the hare's head.

            "Yooowch! Y'wretched bird, wot, git offa me!" Painttail roared. "Yeergh! I'll show you, wot! Argh! Y'clipped me flippin' ear!"

            This resulted in a very angry hare chasing an equally angry sparrow around the main chamber. Rukka's talons and beak jabbed left and right, while Painttail skiphopped about, snatching the sparrow out of midair only to let go again due to the furiosity of the attacks.

            "That sparra 'minds me o' a shrike," Iceblade commented.

            Ralar shook his head. "Those two shouldn't fight at the table. It's a pity they're like this; they should be eating, not chasing each other in insane circles."

            Verleaf tugged at his grandfather's cloak. "Granpa, how did Rukka get here?"

            Iceblade pointed above Nik's head. "Lookit; an 'ole. 'Tis usu'ly fer lettin' light 'n' air inside th'main chamber. Looks like yer friend found a way in."

            Nik looked up. "I didn't know we weren't far underground."

            Meanwhile, Rukka had been dunked into some water, and the the bird was now calmly sitting on a rock ledge.

            "Anythin' else yeh gotta tell us, Rukka?" Runn asked the bird.

            Rukkachun nodded. "Yessa, Runn, morra tell. 'Arebists atta mount'n know o' danger an' headin' fer Redwall. Sto'paw met 'em. Instead o' Redwall, they 'elpin' 'er now. We musta go now. Norra time fer lunch. coz Sto'paw needa 'elp."

*                      *                      *

It was well into the afternoon of the next day, and the sun was starting to set. Sarrico hade made a bargain with Nerygia and had led half of his old crew through part of the woods. The stoat watched as his troops set up camp. The Xerogia foxes were camped by themselves, an approximate shiplength away.

            Nerygia was talking to Sarrico.

            "So, Rugval, finally got it in your brain that it's useless to repair a damaged vessel, hmm?" Nerygia jeered.

            Rugval growled menacingly. "Go back t'yer tribes, vixen. Yer useless; yew promised t'protect an' 'elp me crewbeasts an' me. An' wot are yew doin'? Watchin' us die!"

            Nerygia smiled craftily like the fox she was. "Well, I'm done watching you die, because now there's little of you left and one hundred ninety-four of us. If it hadn't been for your spasms, I would still have the other six. Anyhow, I'm ready to protect what's left of your miserable crew."

            The vixen tested the blade of her battleax on the jug of fresh water at Sarrico's footpaws. She reared her paws backwards and brought the battleax hurtling down at the clay carafe, slicing it cleanly in two from the top to bottom.

            She then continued, "So I hear you want to conquer Mossflower, hmm? Well, how's this—you and one of my scouting foxes will take a trek through the woods and show you the best things around. What do you say?"

            Rugval looked down at the split decanter on the sand. "I'm not stupid, vixen," he finally said. "I'll go, but I'm taking _two_ of mine to come along with me as well."

            Nerygia nodded agreeably. "Do what you want. You can take your whole crew—or what's left of it, at least—and I will not care."

            The stoat corsair stood up, the hatred suddenly blazing in the dark amber eyes of the pirate. "I'll do wot I want, vixen, an' I won't take orders from yew, coz I'm Cap'n!"

            Sarrico sauntered off, picking a rat and a non-tribal fox to accompany him on his trek. Nerygia, on the other hand, turned to one of the other two foxes. The bigger, more brawny one with mottled fur of blue-gray stepped forward, bowed, and winked at the Queen.

            "Do well, Weregang, and your mother will reward you well," Nerygia said, placing the blade of her ax upon her son's head.

            "Oh, you know I will, Mother, oh High Queen," Weregang replied. Baring his fangs in a wide grin, he turned and led Sarrico, the rat, and the other fox farther into Mossflower.

            The other fox, the smaller and slimmer one, followed the tetrad with her eyes until they were out of sight. She then turned to the Queen.

            "Mother, why Weregang? He'll most likely kill them."

            "That's the point, Vulpes!" Xeroedge replied since Queen Nerygia was too busy watching the tribes while thinking. "Weregang'll kill them and then we will rule Mossflower!"

            Vulpes drooped her head and stared at the ground.

            Just at that moment, Kaleena arrived with the news about Redwall. But she looked completely different than she had when she left.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

A day passed by quickly. Then another one. Both came and went with little disturbance. The south wall at Redwall Abbey was almost completed, and a feast was taking place since it was Abbess Song's eleventh season as Abbess. Jubilant Redwallers feasted, sang, danced, and laughed as they knew they were guarded by not only the walls but by warriors as well.

            Nik, Runn, Painttail, Ralar, Kippit, Filian, Pinidap, and Verleaf, along with Iceblade, left the underground domain, following Rukkachun south by west. Tigerlily, Frostpaw, and Thornrose stayed behind to help travellers, and the group of nine voyagers set out to find Stormpaw.

            Meanwhile, Stormpaw and her newfound hare friends had slain seven more crewbeasts, bringing the number down to one ferret. In fact, the hares were the same ones that Lord Russano had ordered to go to Redwall. Lieutenant Tammo and the six others had decided against going to Redwall, got the idea of helping Stormpaw, and got it approved by the Badger Lord.

            Creekstar, Lurrana, and Portred, along with their thirty warriors combined into one large group, sped onwards, taking the route Rukka had directed them in. The three holt leaders, determined to help their brother and save Mossflower, didn't give a second thought to stopping, and neither did their warriors.

            Kaleena, soaked to the skin with blood and heavily marked with wounds, had been healed by the Clawfist's seer and medicine fox, Rappan. Kaleena then reported Redwall to the Queen, explaining with great detail everything she could remember. The Queen grinned with delight upon hearing everything the vixen scout had to say.

            The little disturbance of the two days were shattered as the third day began. Weregang, Sarrico, the rat (Spineflaw), and the non-tribal fox (Ridgesnout) were still trekking through Mossflower. Weregang, son of Nerygia, had shown the stoat corsair all that southern Mossflower had to offer. Rugval was content, knowing that if he took over Mossflower, everybeast living in it would be under his command. Spineflaw and Ridgesnout, on the other hand, desperately wanted to return to the beach.

            "Quit yer whinin'," Sarrico snapped at the rat, who was whimpering pitifully. "An' yew call yerself a searat! Hah, searat, me ear!"

            Snarling, Sarrico continued following Weregang. Spineflaw and Ridgesnout exchanged nervous looks, then timidly followed their leader.

            Since they had not journeyed too far from the beach, Stormpaw, who had followed the foursome since they had left, could get an easy shot without venturing far from the hares, who had food, water, and extra arrows.

            The otter grasped onto the high bough of an elm tree with her tail, bow and arrow in paw, as she watched the four pass by without noticing her. Quickly and quietly, Stormpaw drew back her bowstring as far as it could go and released it, letting the arrow fly through the air with a soft hissing noise. The arrow shaft buried itself deep within the back of Spineflaw's neck and exited out the other side, finally embedding itself in the dirt. Ridgesnout howled in surprise as the rat fell next to the arrow, a bloody hole in both the front and back of his throat.

            "Wot 'appened?!" Rugval demanded of Ridgesnout as he and Weregang whirled around to see what the commotion was about.

            Looking about nervously, Ridgesnout ignored his leader's question.

            "I said, wot 'appened?!" the stoat roared, pinning the defenseless fox against the nearest tree. But before Ridgesnout could reply, he was hit squarely between the eyes by a smooth, round stone. The stone struck the creature's skull with an ominous crack, and before anybeast could blink, the fox was dead.

            Weregang quickly turned to look at the tall elm tree where he had though the stone and the arrow had come from. Instead, all he was was nothingness. Just a tree.

            Sarrico had let go of the dead fox and was now searching frantically for whomever shot the arrow and stone. Turning his back to a large, inconspicuous pile of bracts, little did he know he was being watched.

            An otter javelin flew through the air from the bract pile. Sarrico turned around just in time and jumped away from the javelin. A second too late and the javelin would have pierced him, not the tree trunk Rugval had been standing in front of.

            "We're gettin' outta 'ere," Sarrico told Weregang. He ran for the beach as Weregang blended in perfectly with the foliage, escaping back to his mother at the beach as well.

            Stormpaw peered out from the hallow trunk of the elm tree. She had witnessed everything, including the javelin incident. Crawling out of the hole and brushing splinters of bark from her fur, she watched the pile of bracts moving. Out popped the head of a hare.

            "Oh, nice throw, wot," the hare told somebeast next to him. "That un stoat's went fleein' fer 'is flippin' life, the coward. Oy! Ralar! Y'can come out now!"

            A hobbling old mouse ambled out, grumbling. "Vermin, they don't know what's good for them. At least two fell. Don't know by whom, but at least it's two vermin less than a few minutes before!" The mouse turned to look behind him. "Verleaf, Pinidap, Filian, come on. Look—Salamandastron's not too far away."

            As three babes scrambled out of the pile, another one—a squirrel—appeared and seemed to be tugging on something. "Nik! C'mon brother, Ralar's leaving us!"

            The hare jumped out of the bracts. "Well, let's jolly well continue, wot! On t' Salamandastron!"

            "Wait a tick, Painttail," a voice interrupted. The voice belonged to an older squirrel who stepped out of the bracts, being pulled by his little brother.

            "Nik, Painttail…Kippit," Stormpaw whispered. She suddenly grinned. "They're 'ere!"

            "Wot is it?" Painttail asked as two otters appeared from the pile.

            "That arrow. Look." The squirrel pointed to the arrow in the ground.

            Gingerly, the hare picked it up by the end and peered closer at it. "Blood. So wot?" As the squirrel shook his head, Painttail peered even closer. "Wait a tick—yer right! 'Tis black-fletched!"

            "What's that mean?" one of the babes, a mouse, asked.

            One of the otters, the younger one, nodded his head. "I 'member a black-fletched arrer. Y'said y'found un in Martin's tapestry, right Paint? Aye, 'twas Stormpaw's!"

            Stormpaw decided that was her signal. She shot another arrow exactly where the first one had hit, making everybeast look up at the elm tree. She grinned at them and put her bow away.

            "Hiya, mateys," Stormpaw greeted. "It's been a while, no?"

            "Stormpaw!" Nik, Painttail, and Kippit chorused.

            The female otter jumped from her perch and was swarmed by her three friends. Nik and Painttail slapped her on the back while Kippit climbed onto her shoulders.

            "Yay!" the squirrelbabe exclaimed jovially. "You're back! Yay! Wait'll Mum sees you! All growning up and escaping the Abbey. Hah! No more chestnuts and strawberries for you and get a bath and no supper."

            Stormpaw laughed at the little squirrel's playful scold.

            "Hey, 'ave y'met Runn yet, wot?" Painttail asked the female otter. He gestured to the male, who was exactly a season older than Stormpaw. "That's the jolly good Runn. Fine creature, ain't he, wot?"

            Stormpaw nodded and shook Runn's paw, for they had never officially met. The two stared at each other for a moment befor Nik butted in, interrupting the silence.

            "Well, old riverdog, it seems you can take care of yourself, eh?" he observed. He then became serious. "How many have you slain?"

            Both otters jerked back to reality and Stormpaw answered, "Lemme see…two…five…twenny…twenny-seven…I'd say twenny-seven. The 'ares o'er yonder are 'elping deplete their numbers, but they still 'ave un 'undred ninety-four foxes, lest Sarrico's slain s'more."

            "Sarrico slays th'foxes?" the scarred, tattooed, half-blind otter asked incredulously.

            "Aye," Stormpaw retorted. "Out o' anger. Rugval 'ates Queen Nerygia o' the fox tribes. She's plottin' t'kill Sarrico, then take Mossflow'r fer 'erself."

            "Typical vermin behavior," the old mouse commented.

            Stormpaw looked at him. "Who're you?"

            "I am Ralar Creekhawn. This is Verleaf, my grandson, Pinidap, and Filian, Painttail's neice. I'm a traveler, not a warrior, so don't say anything."

            "Wasn't plannin' to."

            "Oh…Never mind, then."

*                      *                      *

Wedge Bristle slept soundly the night before, and, as the sun shone brightly through his window, the end of a somewhat long dream came to a close. In his dream, Martin the Warrior, clad in full armor and surrounded by all the Abbots and Abbesses of the past, spoke to him with a deep voice that reverberated through the ethereal void of the dream world. The warrior, accompanied by the varying voices of the heads of Redwall Abbey in the past, proclaimed the future to the hedgehog.

                        "Of the seventeen that fight the war,

                        Only twelve will come back home,

                        With the mourning and the grief,

                        Towards the red walls of sandstone.

                        Champion squirrel, small as he may be,

                        Will join the mouse as leader of Redwall,

                        And avenge the deaths of their cherished ones,

                        And come back home from duty's call.

                        Iceblade, Swiftwater, Reguba too,

                        Will go down in Mossflower's history,

                        As warriors who knew no fear,

                        And who let the woodlanders free.

                        Mourning comes on a jubilant day,

                        So do not grieve lest she permits,

                        The pining of our lost loved ones,

                        Who gave their lives so you could exist."

            Wedge could scarcely remember the rhyme, other than the first two lines. He murmured it in his sleep and he continued murmuring it as he started on his daily chores.

            "Of the seventeen that fight the war, only twelve will come back home…"

*                      *                      *

Nerygia smiled sneeringly at Rugval, who, with his last ferret crewbeast, sat around a diminishing fire, eating what was left of their food supply. The black fox Queen turned to her family.

            "What a pity, them," she said, her tone of voice dripping with mock sympathy. "If only we could allow them to join us."

            Weregang bit into an apple, made a disgusted face, and spit it out at the fire. "Lousy apple," he grumbled, throwing the apple over his shoulder. It unexpectedly hit a rusty-colored fox on the back of the head.

            "Yowch! 'Oo did that?!"

            The large mottled fox grinned and called to the rusty one, who was now rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head. "Sorry, Flint, didn't mean it! Hey, I think you're growing apples, Flint! Lookit!" Weregang pointed, grinning, at the rising lump on the other fox's head.

            Flint growled as the other foxes jeered at him.

            Before Weregang could laugh along with the other foxes, he was hit in the side of the face with a wet rag. Vulpes, his white-furred sister, glared ominously at him from the opposite side of the fire, the firelight reflecting dangerously off her brown-black eyes.

            "What?" Weregang demanded of his younger sister. "What did I do this time?"

            "You picked on him, gave him a wound, and added insult to injury! You wretched brother, if I wasn't like I am now, I would have taken my dagger and would've skinned you in several places, starting with between your ears!" the vixen snarled angrily.

            "He's only another fox, for crying out loud, Vulpes!" Weregang countered. "It's not like he's of royal blood."

            "So _what_ if he's not?" Vulpes nearly screeched. "He's…he's…not _only_ another fox, you know!"

            Before Weregang could move another muscle, Nerygia butted in. "All right, you two, stop bickering. I've had enough of your arguing since the day Vulpes was born. If I hear any _more_ arguing from you two, you're both confronting Sarrico yourselves, and poisoning him yourselves, too!"

            Weregang stuck his tongue out at his sister, then sauntered off to be with his friends. Vulpes sat down heavily on the sand, poking at the fire with her bladetip. "I'm not afraid of that bumbling idiot of a stoat, Mother," she muttered, her head in one paw. "I'll poison him if you want, but…how come I'm not much of a mercenary or a killer like you guys? Am I not cut out to being one?"

            "Vulpes, you are born a killer, whether you like it or not," Xeroedge told his daughter sternly. "How many times have you been told that? You are from the Xerogia tribes' royal line. If Weregang is not fit to be king then you will take the throne, yet you aren't into killing. Now, I ask you, what is the color of the night?"

            "Black."

            "What is the color of the shadows?"

            "Black."

            "And what is the color of the blood of a Xerogia fox?"

            "Black."

            "We are shadows; we are the night. You are black, inside and out. Like I am, like your grandsire was, and so forth. Nobeast living who's a Xerogia fox is anything but black."

            Vulpes hesitated, then looked up at her father. "Then why am I white?"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"Creekstaaaaaarr! Lurranaaaa! Portreeeeed!"

            The three war cries mingled together as the vast quantity of otters rode in log boats, steered by the infamous Log-a-Log Dippler and his crew. And, as the three cries echoed throughout the riverbank and woodland, another cry, one known throughout the land, resonated along with the others.

            Creekstar, Lurrana, Portred, and their fighters were literally at the sight of the battle to come. Silenced by a sudden _thud_ not too far in the distance, the shrews and otters stopped at the riverbank and got out of the log boats. Luna, one of the scouts (as stated earlier), nearly fell on her tail as something big dropped from the trees, almost landing on top of her.

            "Yaaaaaa—_mmmfff_!" she screamed, being abruptly silenced as a paw clamped her mouth shut.

            "Shhh! Don't go off yellin' round these parts. Hi, Creekstar, Portred, Lurrana. 'Ow's it goin'?" The paw freed Luna and allowed her speech.

            It was Runn, who had dropped from the rowan tree above to greet his brothers, sister, and their fighters, along with the unexpected shrews.

            "Brother!" the three holt leaders exclaimed gleefully, squeezing the youngest of the four in a tight hug.

            "Ow! Leggo o' me, yeh bullies!" Runn yelped pleadingly.

            They all let go, and Creekstar, the eldest, held his brother at paw's length. "Well, lookit yeh! All growed up an' ev'rythin'! Slap me tail, wot are they feedin' yeh at the Abbey? Them bricks they used t'make it?"

            Lurrana, the second eldest, slapped her brother heartily on the back. "Well, yeh liddle rogue, we missed yeh dearly. Looks like yer still that liddle power'ouse even without our 'elp. Heh, yeh still single? Luna missed yeh too."

            Runn yelped again, this time in surprise that the otter he had silenced only a moment before was actually Luna.

            "Wot're yeh doin' 'ere, Luna?" Runn demanded. "Aren't yeh too young t'fight?"

            "No," the female otter said sweetly.

            "Lurrana, why'd yeh bring 'er? 'Sides, I've met a nice otter, fearless too. She carries a cool bone-'andled sword and is accurate with javelin, bow 'n' arrers, an' sling 'n' stones."

            Luna hesitated. "Y-you mean yeh met 'nother otter?"

            "Aye, shipmate, so git off me tail. Sorry, Luna, but things 'appen an' that's that."

            Portred, sensing an argument about to break out, changed the subject. "So, liddle bro, wot's all the fuss 'bout? Why bring us down 'ere where 'tis crawlin' with vermin?"

            "Coz I 'ave a feelin' yon vermin are ready to attack, no matter wot stands in their way," Runn replied darkly. He motioned for everyone to follow, saying, "C'mon. I'd like yeh t' meet some new friends o' mine."

"So, wot's 'appened so far, Nik?"

            The squirrel rapidly climbed down from the lark oak tree at their campsite, the sword of Martin strapped to his back. He brushed bark from his tail as he reported to Runn.

            "Sarrico's gone for 'a walk', as he put it. Dunno what he's up to, but Painttail has a hunch that 'tis not good. Everybeast ought to stay at camp." Then he noticed the vast amount of otters and shrews that had arrived. "So, they came, eh? And old Log-a-Log and the Guosim too, seems." The squirrel then sighed. "Like I said, we ought to stay here so we don't get slain afore the fighting begins."

            "I'm not stayin' round 'ere, twiddlin' me paws and list'nin' t'the birds, Nik," a voice growled from above in the same oak tree Nik had been sitting in.

            "Well, you might as well, Storm, lest you want to die. Old Rugval will skin you alive if he finds out Rudderwake's child still lives."

            "Oh, let 'im try, Niklur, let 'im try."

            Creekstar peered through the leafy foliage. "'Nother friend o' yores, bro?"

            "Aye, 'tis Stormpaw Swiftwater, last o' Holt Rudderwake," Runn retorted, walking off to tell Painttail to fix a meal for the new arrivals.

            "That's _my_ line, Runn!" Stormpaw chided jokingly.

            "I wanted t'beat yeh to it."

            A meal was served to those hungry enough to eat a second breakfast or an early lunch. Introductions were made, and Nik, Painttail, and Runn explained everything to the newcomers.

            "Not much. 'As anythin' _drastic_ 'appened that Sarrico did?" Portred asked, slurping up a bowl of hotroot soup.

            Stormpaw stood up suddenly. "'Course there was, Portred! He mercilessly slaughtered me family at Ruddaring isle! That's a good 'nough reason fer me t'go an' slay the lot o' 'em, even if'n I'm killed in the process!"

            "Easy now, m'gel, wot!" Painttail exclaimed, trying to calm the vicious otter down. He saw the hint of redness in her eyes, and, knowing instinctively the Bloodwrath would possess his friend, he switched to another topic. "We all know wot 'appened, Storm, but let's not rush in an' bang our blinkin' 'eads agin the tree trunks. Now, who wants more 'otroot soup an' shrewbread, thanks t'our delightfully jolly ole thingummybob cooks."

            "Thing a what?" Log-a-Log asked, a bit defensively.

            "Er, er, the bally Guosim, o' course. No need t'git yer fur flyin', ole scamp."

            "Ole scamp yerself, yeh long-eared barrelbelly!"

            Iceblade grinned. "Not th'first time 'e's been called that, y'know. Tigerlily'd be fretting 'erself o'er me whilst lookin' after th'liddle uns. Hah, I miss 'er rose'ip tea an' redcurrant tarts—they were th'best I've tasted. Ever."

            "Mum and Dad would be helping keep the south wall up," Nik added, expressing his and Kippit's thoughts. "Foremole'd be digging, and ole blind Badgermum Cregga would be feeling her way around the Abbey, helping Brother Lanno cook pies and flans and trifles and—"

            "Easy, ole chap, yer makin' me 'ungry, wot wot!" Painttail exclaimed. Then, in a quieter tone, he murmured, "Then agin, I miss Rayna an' 'er continuous blinkin' bird babble. Ah, I'd give anythin' t'be back 'ome."

            There were murmurs of agreement among some of the creatures around the fire. Only Stormpaw sat silently, glaring at the fire, her paws gripping the handle of her sword firmly.

            "Wot's the matter with you, matey?" a shrew named Niggon asked.

            "I'd give anythin' t'be back with me family," Stormpaw whispered. "O' course I can't, though; they're dead. Mum an' Dad were great warriors, aye, they were. I was so liddle an' so curious o' the outside world, but me parents an' family denied my goin' out an' travelling. I stayed at Ruddaring fer literally all me life. Then…it all vanished. Hah, Mum would take me out t'the shore o' the isle and teach me 'ow t'shoot a bow an' arrow properly. Granpa, he was a peace-lovin' un, an' I learned the ways o' a calm life from 'im. I don't think I'm much of a pacifist, bein' so bloodthirsty an' all. Revenge was the on'y thing in me mind fer days, and it will be till Sarrico lies dead." As she spoke the last few lines, Stormpaw turned to Painttail. The hare nodded sadly; he had been the one who had witnessed the otter's true warrior spirit, along with Lunkin and Maybell.

            "Revenge. A wunnerful an' deadly thing at th'same time," Iceblade commented, testing the blade of his battleax.

            A silence enshrouded the campsite as everybeast thought of their homes, whether it was gone from them or not. The silence, though, was interrupted when a booming voice from the beach called out:

            "Oy, Your Highness, lookit! Sarrico's back, the one-eared stoat. And lookit—he's brought company."

            Log-a-Log, Nik, and some others rushed over to a large fallen oak tree. Peering over the edge, they watched as Rugval Sarrico proudly strolled towards the black vixen sitting with her family around a fire. The stoat was flanked by a gang of strangebeasts. All were weasels, painted various shades of green with plant dyes. Spears and swords were held in their paws, and the ones in the back were hauling a young bankvole roughly.

            "Ow!" the babe screeched. "Leggo of me, you wretched vermin!"

            Sarrico smiled as cheerfully as he could without looking menacing and greeted the vixen. "Why, g'day, Majesty, 'ow is ev'rythin'?"

            Nerygia snarled. "What are you up to _now_, stoat?"

            "As yew c'n see, I've got meself a new 'orde." At the wave of his paw, scores of weasels, ferrets, and rats emerged from the bushes and trees (thankfully not near Nik and his friends). "I promised these Flitchaye an' other savages slayin' an' plunder throughout Mossflow'r woods if they join me. An' we even started by burnin' down a small village. Not a lot o' goods, but we captured the liddle uns, slew the old an' adult uns, and are plannin' t'start a slavin' operation. An' we've got a few liddle uns t'start with. This 'ere crybaby is on'y un o' the ten."

            Vulpes loathed the stoat as much as her mother did, and as he spoke about enslavement, she hated him even more (if that's even possible).

            "You fleabitten mangy-furred one-eared louse-infested frogwhalloper!" the pure white vixen practically shrieked. "You don't deserve to live, let alone go around destroying this and that! The true conquerers are the foxes of the Xerogia tribes!"

            In the shade of the forest, Nik, Painttail, Log-a-Log, Runn, Stormpaw, Lieutenant Tammo, Creekstar, Lurrana, and Portred watched the event on the beach. All with grim faces, each was thinking the same thing: rescue the little vole.

            "Flitchaye," Nik growled, the fur on the nape of his neck standing on end.

            "Flitchaye?" Stormpaw wondered. "Wot are Flitcheye?"

            "Them blighters 'ave lived in Mossflow'r fer many, many seasons," Tammo replied in a whisper. "They've been 'ere since Martin the jolly Warrior's day, m'gel. Savage beasts, they are, wot wot. Though, they don't come down this far south."

            "Well, we can't—an' won't—let some painted hooligans drag a pore baby vole round like that." Stormpaw slowly stood up, making sure the occupants on the beach couldn't see her.

            "Slow down, Storm," Nik warned. "If we go charging at them like that, they'll slay the lot of us. We need to plan out our attack."

            Stormpaw growled in defeat at Nik's logical reasoning. "Fine. Do what yeh wish, Nik, but 'morrow at dawn, I'm goin' out an' pickin' some Flitcheye nonsense out o' Mossflow'r."

            "You'd be killed!" Lurrana quietly exclaimed in surprise at the young otter's determination.

            "Killed or not, I'm goin' in at dawn. Nobeast's gonna stop me, an' I'll be thankful fer any 'elp, but if'n there's a chance t'slay Sarrico, then on'y I will do it." With those words, Stormpaw turned and headed back to camp.

            In a low whisper, Portred whispered to Runn, "Now I see why yeh like 'er."

*                      *                      *

_Sssssss_…_thunk_!

            An arrow shot through the dim morning light and hit its target in the side of the neck.

            _Ssssss_…_thunk_!

            Another arrow came after the first one, zipped through one of the larger fires, and hit another weasel in the chest, the wooden shaft burning crazily.

            _Ssssss_…_thunk_!

            A third arrow buried itself in a rat's gizzard, but the rat was too deep in sleep to realize the agonizing pain that he had just been hit with.

            A volley of arrows rained upon the sleeping camp, taking out weasel, rat, ferret, and fox alike. Though where the ex-corsair stoat was, Stormpaw didn't know.

Stormpaw, using all her cunning and agility, found the large wooden crate that held the ten baby slaves. Using her sword, she pried open the lid. The little creatures had been awakened by the creaking wood, and all looked up fearfully at the female otter.

            All but one.

            He was a small vole, not much older or smaller than Filian. The bankvole wrinkled his nose and bared his teeth, raising his manacled paws up defensively.

            "Go 'way, weasel!" the vole hissed. "Marrik not 'fraid o' weasels! Ya donn scare me, even wiv ya big sword."

            Stormpaw was impatient that morning. "Hush now, yeh liddle brat, an' don't try anythin' stupid. I'm an otter, messmate, an' I'm proud t'be un. C'mon, bring yore friends. Nik will scream 'is 'ead off at me if'n I get captured, so let's go!"

            Two-by-two, Stormpaw sliced through the manacles and lifted the ten babes out of the box, replaced the lid, and hurried them along into the safety of the forest. One quick look back at the silent beach and the number of those slain by her arrows confirmed the otter's thoughts. Smiling grimly, she led the band of young creatures towards safety.

Sarrico was sitting up a tree and had witnessed everything. Though not sure it was all true due to lack of sleep and the dim light, he was sure about one thing: somebeast was here.

—————

_Author's Note_: Doesn't it seem that Runn's kinda _scared_ of Luna? I don't know why I did that…


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"What did I say _just_ yesterday, Stormpaw?!"

            Stormpaw stared coolly up at Nik, who had a look of fury on his face.

            "Yeh said no goin' out an' I could be slain an' there's no point'n bloodshed afore the battle," the female otter said flatly.

            "And what did you just do?!"

            "Go out an' slay some vermin an' free the slaves an' git meself slain," Stormpaw replied sarcastically.

            "_Not funny_, Stormpaw! You could've given away our position and all."

            "Don't worry, Nik. I entered the forest'n a diff'rent spot, so don't go choppin' down yore trees just coz I went an' did wot I wanted to." Stormpaw patted the head of the small bankvole Marrik. "'Sides, these liddle uns got no 'ome an' they're mighty 'ungry. Right liddle mate?"

            Marrik nodded happily as he spooned himself another bowl of pudding. "Marrik 'ungry. Me likes pudden. Wannamore."

            Nik ignored the little vole and faced Stormpaw once more. "Look, Storm, now's not the time to be reckless—"

            "An' I'm not reckless lest there's somethin' goin' on an' I'm in a tight corner," the otter interrupted. "Now, if'n ye'll 'scuse me, I've got t'eat brekkist. See ya, messmate."

            And Stormpaw was gone, vanishing into the vegetation.

            Painttail shook his head at Nik. "Y'don't think she's gone t'slay s'more, wot?"

            "By the fur, Painttail, she's a defiant one. I'd be surprised if she comes to live at Redwall and gets old and feeble and has kids and all."

            "Me too," Kippit piped up, tugging on his brother's arm.

            "I wouldn't, wot," the hare replied, handing a bowl to a badgerbabe named Rose. "She looks fit t'die if'n she continues goin' round an' killin' the flippin' lot o' 'em. 'Ere, Rose, try some o' this."

*                      *                      *

Sarrico could not stand this anymore. He could feel it in his whiskers that the fighting would start some time that day. Taking extra precautions, he gathered his Captains, all weasels.

            "Rugfur, Ziggat, an' Lashid, yew three take ten each an' ready 'em wi' spears. Dankclaw, Yunna, an' Pizcrook, yew three taker yer best archers an' git ready t'ambush the woodlanders when they come."

            The only female Captain, Yunna, asked, "Wot if'n these woodlanders see through arr plan, Chief?"

            Sarrico's cutlass what at the weasel's throat. "Are yew questionin' me orders?" he demanded.

            "N-no Chief!"

Queen Nerygia could feel the battle spirit in the air as well. Her tribes, all well-trained fighters, knew what to do. They had been in many battles before and had always won, gathering more foxes for members. Those who they conquered were turned into slaves, but, unfortunately for them, all of their slaves had died. Nevertheless, Nerygia had urged her tribes on, plundering and conquering.

            The black vixen sharped the blade of her ax matter-of-factly. Nearby, Weregang was urging Vulpes to use a battleax and not a dagger.

            "Though a battleax may be bigger and have more of an edge, a dagger is quick and light, not heavy like that clumpy hatchet of yours," the vixen told her brother, emphasizing the last phrase by kicking aside one of the two axes on the sand.

            Weregang snarled at his sister. "You are very insolent, little sis. I won't be surprised if you become Queen, but when you do I will be first on the list to kill you!"

Noon came down upon the three groups. The scorching rays of the sun beat down upon those on the beach. Those in the woods had shade, but the heat still penetrated the leafy vegetation.

            "If we fight in this weather I'm going to die of the heat before I die fighting," Ralar complained.

            "You won't die, Granpa," Verleaf insisted. "You can't. Then nobeast will take me home to Mum and Dad."

            Ralar laughed merrily. "You're a brave young mouse, Verleaf, and I've taught you all of my navigational skills. I bet you could find your way back home blindfolded."

            Pinidap, Filian, and some of the freed slaves laughed and played along with Ralar's statement, binding Verleaf in cloth and blindfolding him, seeing whether he could find the leftover damson pudding from earlier. When he had found it, Verleaf plunged into the large bowl nose-first and came up laughing.

            "Hush, liddle uns," Lurrana scolded the babes. "Battle'll take place soon; I c'n feel it in me bones. Be quiet or ye'll be found."

            "Well," Painttail said, "if'n battles bound t'come, ole gel, then wot're we waitin' for?"

            Stormpaw drew her sword. "Nothin'. We're not gettin' any younger standin' 'ere, so let's go."

*                      *                      *

They assembled on the beach (they had been following the coastline), a few yards from where they had camped

            Sarrico shielded his eyes with one paw as he watched the forest. His archers, hidden behind rocks, were waiting his signal. The rest of his horde, all carrying spears or pikes, waited in silence.

            Queen Nerygia and her tribes, armed with battleaxes (the traditional Xerogia fox weapon) except for Vulpes, stood at the ready, forming a semi-circle around the royal family. Nerygia and Xeroedge, flanked by their two children, watched for any movement in the trees and shrubbery.

            Then, suddenly, out of the forest came one otter. Holding her bone-handled sword out in front of her, she faced the two armies.

            "G'day t'ye lot o' vermin," she growled. "I am Stormpaw Swiftwater, daughter o' Inbar Trueflight an' Grath Longfletch, sister o' Furwoth, Plankkit, an' Buckstream. I am the last o' Holt Rudderwake o' Ruddaring Isle. Now look round yeh, vermin, coz this'll be yore last chance t'see the light o' day. I will have my revenge! Holt Rudderwaaaaaaake!"

            The whole woodland army emerged from the trees, wielding javelin, sling, bow and arrow, lance, or longblade, and the occasional sword or ax.

            With a leap and a bound, Stormpaw was in the ranks of vermin, slashing madly and moving like a whirlwind, tearing, stabbing, blocking, and thrusting with her sword. Her friends joined in, wrecking havoc on both Sarrico's and Nerygia's armies, yelling the time-honored battle cries.

            "Redwaaaaaaalll! Logalogalogaloooog! Mossflowerrrrr!"

            Slashing and hacking at various rats, weasels, and ferrets, Nik made his way to Stormpaw. The two, battling back-to-back, twirled their deadly blades like twin windmills. Runn and his siblings were in a tight circle, letting stones fly and shielding the wounded Luna and the medicine hare Liana, who was bandaging up the otter's wounds. Painttail, his Long Patrol friends, his father, and his nephew fought like madbeasts, kicking with their powerful hind legs and whacking foxes with their lances. Log-a-Log and his shrews were in several groups, lashing out with their raipers. Iceblade was a deadly steel hurricane, ax and cutlass blades flashing, slaying all who ventured close.

            "C'mon, yeh lily-livered scum, try an' beat ole Iceblade!" the scarred otter roared, laughing madly.

            Ralar and the young ones were still in the forest, listening to the roars and agonizing wails of the ones on the beach. Verleaf and Kippit, the bravest of the bunch stood at the edge of the forest, whirling slingstones at some of Rugval's horde, laughing gleefully as each vermin dropped to their well-aimed stones. These two were born warriors, and nothing could change that.

            A ferret saw the two young ones as they fitted more stones in their slings. He charged at them, spear held out straight. Verleaf and Kipp squeaked in fright and turned to dash back into the forest. The ferret was literally on them until something bolted from the vegetation and blocked the downward sweep of the spear, allowing the young ones an escape.

            It was Ralar.

            "Granpa!" Verleaf screamed, stopping suddenly.

            "Verleaf, go!" Ralar ordered, his weak frame shaking under the weight the ferret was putting on his spear. The stave that the old mouse had used to block snapped under the pressure, and the ferret, grinning wickedly, shoved the spearpoint into the old gray mouse.

            "Noooo! Granpaaaa!" Verleaf sobbed. Kippit took his friend and covered his eyes, pushing him away from the gruesome scene. Verleaf wailed pitifully when they returned to the others, shaking uncontrollably with his head in his paws.

            Back on the beach, Iceblade was pinned down by a gang of Xerogia foxes. The big otter had been relieved of his weapons, despite his mad thrashing (in fact, he had slain four of the ten foxes that had set out to restrain him just by biting, kicking, and punching). Weregang raised his battleax high and was about to bring it crashing down when…

            "Redwaaaaaall!"

            Runn came out of the battling mob like a thunderbolt. He thwacked Weregang across the head with a stone, stunning the fox, then barreled into him head-first.

            Iceblade kicked away the rest of the foxes, but not before one stabbed him in the side with a pike lying in the sand. Blood flowed from the wound, but Iceblade ignored it. He grabbed an ax from a fallen fox and swung it like a scythe.

            "Thanks, matey, yeh saved me life," Iceblade told Runn as the two battled their way back to their friends.

            "Well, we all gotta look after each other," Runn replied, knocking a rat unconscious with another stone.

            Nik had fallen. Stormpaw and Painttail stood above him, sword and lance whacking and spearing, chopping and cleaving.

            "Nik!" Stormpaw called out over the noise of the melee. "Wot's wrong with yeh, mate?"

            "I…I can't…"

            But before the squirrel could answer, he and his three friends were knocked aside by a large hornbeam limb. Xeroedge, the largest and strongest of the Xerogia foxes, wielded the limb like a club.

            Niklur was catapulted into a tree. His wounded body clung to the tree, and, seeing that he and his friends might lose, he desperately called out with the last of his strength.

            "Woodlanders! Don't give up!" he yelled hoarsely. "We can win if we believe in ourselves! REDWAAAAAAALLL!"

            The battle cry and the squirrel's encouragement gave them new energy, it seemed. The woodlanders fought harder with every ounce of strength in them. Rats, weasels, ferrets, and foxes alike fell to the deadly weapons of the ferocious fighters.

            "We can't keep all this up, Father," Painttail told Lieutenant Tammo.

            "Oho, no, we can't like this, laddie buck, wot, but with reinforcements, we absoballylutely can, wot wot!" the war veteran replied.

            "Huh?"

            "Look!" Tammo pointed a paw at the top of a large sand dune while spearing a weasel with his lance.

            At the crest of the hill, a large, muscular male badger stood, holding in his paws a stout stick, almost as long as the average stave. The stick, a strange shade of reddish-brown, may have looked useless, but to those wise enough to wield it, it was a formidable weapon. And, rallied behind the badger, were dozens upon dozens of hares, all carrying some sort of weapon, whether it be lance, pike, or raiper.

            It was Lord Russano the Wise of Salamandastron and his perilous Long Patrol hares.

            Painttail started fighting with renewed strength at the sight of his Lord. "Lookit! Ole Russ is 'ere! Yaagh! Take that, yeh bally vermin!"

            The Badger Lord suddenly charged down the sand dune, the hares following suit. The war cry of badgers and hares rang out across the wide beach, sending a chill throughout both woodlander and vermin alike.

            "Eeeeeuuuulaliaaaaa!"

            Lord Russano flung his hardwood stick, striking the nearest fox squarely between the eyes. Then, from that point, it was truly a mad war. Fur and blood flew as everybeast fought like mad. The coming of Salamandastron's Long Patrol, headed by their Badger Lord, drained the fight out of the weasels, ferrets, and rats. They, little-by-little and quivering with terror, surrendered themselves to the woodlanders. Even the foxes, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught, started surrendering. But that was not what drove them to near annahilation. It was a quick action only a seasoned warrior could have done to their leader, Queen Nerygia.

            The black fox was slashing violently, driving her axblade into any foebeast. That's when Iceblade, with the pike still in his side, came up on her blind side and gave a mighty swing with his newly acquired ax. Nerygia fell and her head rolled clumsily away from her body.

            Weregang and Xeroedge, wielding ax and hornbeam limb, came at Iceblade. The big otter jumped up and swung mightily again, and the two foxes' heads joined up with the Queen's as their bodies lay where they had stood a moment before.

            The foxes were all in fright. There lay three of the royal family, all beheaded.

            "Now, yeh scurvy lot, who's nex'?" Iceblade roared.

            In haste, all the foxes dropped their weapons and seated themselves on the sand, their paws on the tops of their heads.

            Iceblade snarled menacingly. "Good. Yeh lot 'ave caused more trouble'n me two babes."

            Creekstar, Portred, and Lurrana supervised the remaining fox army, along with two or three of their fighters.

            Most of the other army were on the sand, paws on heads, as well. Only a small group defended Sarrico as they tried getting him to the trees, to safety.

            Stormpaw spotted this. She and a group of Long Patrol hares charged at the escapers, brandishing their weapons fiercely.

            "Eeeuuulaliaaaa! Ruddawaaaaake!"

            The small, tight battle raged on. Sarrico cursed, turned, and started for the trees on his own. But he didn't get far. A well-aimed slingstone hurtled towards him and struck him in the small of the back. Yelling in pain, the stoat turned and saw his most hated enemy (literally). The female otter gripped the handle of her sword, an equal amount of loathing on her face.

            "C'mon, stoat!" Stormpaw challenged. "Let's see wot yer made of!"


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Sarrico allowed himself a grim smile.

            "Oh, yer a cheeky un all right, waterhound," the stoat said. "An' I'll be glad when yer gone. But first, let me show yew somethin' that'll leave yew ponderin' at the gates o' Dark Forest. Lashid! Bring 'em out!"

*                      *                      *

Mother Cregga shook her head for what seemed like the seventeenth time that day. For three days, ever since Wedge had recited the poem Martin the Warrior and the past Abbots and Abbesses had spoken in his dream, the whole Abbey had been worrying for the ones off at war.

            "Oh, dearie me," Sister Rosa murmured, wringing her paws nervously. "'Of the seventeen that fight the war, only twelve will return home.' Cregga, do you know what that means? Death! Death and killing! Oh, I'm afraid to think of who those poor creatures will be."

            The badger shook her head again. She read over the parchment with the whole poem written on it, courtesy of Recorder Rimrose. "Seventeen…weren't there originally five? Where'd the other twelve come from?"

            "I'm not sure. Oh, Cregga, twelve will come back home…do you think that the original five that was sent to defeat that accursed stoat will die? All of them?"

            Cregga shook her head yet again, this time in anger. "Don't say that, Sister Rosa! And not in front of the little ones. Look—here's a bunch of them now."

            Some Dibbuns and Maybell were following Wedge around. Actually, it was only the Dibbuns who were doing it with a will, reciting the only line they could remember. "Oo gave da lives so ya 'sist!"

            Maybell, on the other hand, was in charge of the Dibbuns. They romped about, reciting the poem with Wedge, annoying Maybell worse than Painttail usually does.

            "You little rogues!" the prissy mouse exclaimed, pulling Tibbin by his ear. "Silence and follow me; it's time for your naps."

            Tibbin growled. "Ya snotty-noser mousey, lemmego! Lemmego! Yowowoo! Tibb not takin' naptime. Tibb not sleepy'ead. Leggo! Yowch!"

            Sister Rosa cuffed Maybell's paw sharply. "Let go of the little one, Maybell!"

            "But Sister Rosa, they won't listen to me," the mousemaid complained. "I'm just glad that young Kipp isn't here. He's just like his brother; all warrior-like. I can't stand fighting. It's so useless to fight."

            Wedge, who was pacing nearby, the gang of Dibbuns following his every move, suddenly stopped. "Ho! Wot's that y'say, Maybell? Kipp like 'is bro? Aha! That's un part o' the rhyme! The on'y liddle squirrel t'act warrior-like! Thankee, May, thankee!"

            "On'y likkle squiggle act warrer-like!"

            "Wot that ee sez, Meebill?"

            "Dat part o' rymm!"

            "Thankers, May, thankers!"

*                      *                      *

Lashid the weasel stepped forward and pushed in front of him a manacled line of old and young ones being held hostage. They were ones Stormpaw had not seen before.

            Rugval grinned maliciously. "See 'ere, Stormtail or Furpaw or whatever yew call yerself, these were the _escaped_ prisoners o' the villages we plundered from. Aye, these uns were brave 'nough t'face me, but they were no match at all fer me 'orde! An' yer either gonna die or yer gonna join the line. coz they're more slaves, see?"

            An old squirrel's top lip curled defiantly. "Oh, slaves are we, scum? We'll see who ends up victorious in the end, one-ear! You or the brave woodlanders who've come to fight you!"

            Lashid kicked the squirrel roughly. "Yew! Be quiet till Chief says y'can talk!"

            Stormpaw wasn't in the mood to talk. "C'mon, vermin, let's see wot yer made of!" she repeated. "Lest yer a coward!"

            The stoat's temper rose suddenly. "Coward? Coward!? Nobeast calls me coward an' lives t'tell 'bout it!" He drew his cutlass. "All right, riverdog, lets see 'ow yew fight!"

The hot summer sun came down upon the two creatures who faced each other, sword and cutlass at the ready. One, a corsair stoat, wearing a ragged tunic and missing one ear, who was holding a bunch of woodlanders as slaves. The other, a young otter, barely at adulthood, who was seeking nothing more than vengeance.

            And then they charged.

            Steel crashed upon steel as the two fought. A blur of fur and deadly blades, each would score wounds upon the other. Blood flew in all directions, splattering the sand and those who ventured too close. The fight went on for what seemed like hours. Each jab, slash, thrust, and stab was countered.

            Stormpaw was thrown back and landed with a heavy thud on the sand. Staggering to her footpaws, she watched as the stoat sneered at her.

            "'Ad too much, woodlander?" he mocked.

            _Swish_! _Crack_! _Thud_!

            Everybeast turned to the source of the sound. The old gray squirrel was up, sweat pouring down his brow. In his manacled paws, the slave line chain was whirring above his head in counterclockwise circles. Lashid the weasel Captain lay slain at the ancient squirrel's footpaws.

            "Let death come to the sons of Hellgates!" the old one roared. Flinging himself at the other Captains with sudden alacrity that belied his age, he flung the chain left and right, slaying those in his path.

            "Young otter," he called, "fulfill your destiny!"

            Stormpaw didn't need a second bidding. She hurled herself at her confused and outraged enemy, the lethal battlesword hacking at the stoat. Rugval Sarrico had little time to react. As he put up his cutlass to defend himself, he was thwacked in the side of the head with the flat of the young otter's sword, partially stunned. Stormpaw then lunged and brought death to her opponent.

            Sarrico fell, slain at impact. The sword had embedded itself straight into his evil heart and had sent him to Dark Forest.

*                      *                      *

"Whew! Jolly good show, m'gel!" Lieutenant Tammo told Stormpaw. "Nice parry there, too, wot wot! Top hole!"

            "Capital wheeze, ole riverdog!" one of the Long Patrol Colonels added, patting the otter on the back. "Y'sure showed ole slave-driver that scum like 'im are destined t' experience death at the paws of a warrior! By gum! Painttail, is that you, m'bucko?"

            Stormpaw extricated herself from the mob of worn-out hares and went to join her friends. The whole woodlander army had won, fortunately, and Lord Russano had gotten rid of what was left of the fox and vermin armies. Of course, nothing in war is always jubilant. And Verleaf and Kippit proved that.

            The two babes were wailing distressedly, hugging each other and trying to wake their most loved ones up.

            "Granpa, please, you'll be all right," Verleaf begged. "Granpa, please wake up. Please…Granpa…"

            Kipp wasn't speaking. He just sobbed, cradling his brother's head, the tears streaming down his face.

            Runn placed a comforting paw around the two. "Come now, mates, they gave their lives 'elpin' us. I know 'tis sad an' all, but that's 'ow life is."

            Verleaf nodded reluctantly. He hugged the corpse of his old grandfather and allowed the older ones to bury it.

            Kipp was different. No matter what Runn said, he didn't leave his brother.

            "K-Kippit?"

            The hoarse voice came from Nik. Everybeast around was glad to have Nik alive, but they didn't know for how long. Kipp simply thought Nik wasn't going to die at all.

            "Nik!" the squirrelbabe exclaimed in joy. "I knew you'd live! I knew!"

            Niklur shook his head and emitted a short, ragged laugh. "Hahah…Kipp, I'm glad you think I'll live, but I won't. Kipp, things happen and that's that. You can't stop death."

            The little squirrel shook his head furiously. "No! No! You…you can't die!"

            "Everybeast dies, Kipp," Nik whispered. "Listen—when you get to Redwall Abbey, tell Mum and Dad that I'm sorry. I promised them…I promised them I wouldn't die. And I am. Kipp, do that for me, little brother."

            Kippit hung his head sadly, nodding.

            "Now, do me un more thing."

            "Name it, brother, and I'll do it."

            "Take…take Martin's sword…and bring everybeast back. I want you to be the next Redwall Champion. Protect the Abbey…and other goodbeasts with your life and your sword."

            "On my affidavit."

            Without anything more to say, Niklur's bright amber eyes clouded over. He exhaled one short breath…and died.

            Verleaf took Kipp's paw. "I'm sorry, Kipp. Your brother was a great creature. He died in battle; he was a warrior at heart. Your brother shouldn't have died. He was too young and had many seasons ahead of him, like we have many seasons ahead of us."

            Kipp nodded. As he spoke, it seemed like something had come over him. He looked older, taller, and more like his brother. And he spoke like a true creature, not a little babe anymore. "Aye, Verleaf. Your ole granpa risked his life too. He was ole an' weak, but he let us escape."

            A grim smile appeared on the young squirrel's face. He let go of his friend and picked up the sword of Martin. After carefully cleaning the blade and putting it back in its scabbard, the squirrel placed it over his shoulders and back.

            Iceblade nodded in approval, sitting on the beach with his back against a tree. "Aye, yeh look like yer brother, liddle squirrel. Tall, determined, fearless. Aye, that's th'stuff. Yeh don't look much like a babe no more. Yer a warrior. A full-fledged warrior!"

            Kipp, though still inexperienced at holding a sword, drew the legendary battleblade and looked at it. Cleaving left, slashing right, and jabbing at invisible enemies, the young Warriorsquirrel tested out his new-found power.

            Painttail nodded as he dragged Nik's body away to bury it. "Those two—Kipp an' Verleaf. Seems like they've jolly well died an' was reborned inter spiffin' new bodies, wot! Lookit Kipp; if'n he was a mouse, 'e'd be Martin the Warrior! An' lookit Verleaf. 'E's 'elpin' the liddle fighter, instructin' an' ev'rythin'. Why, 'e'd be Abbot, my whiskers!"

            Runn nodded in agreement. "What d'ye think, Iceblade?"

            But the battle-scarred otter did not answer, and neither had he heard any of what Runn or Painttail had said. The otter had a peaceful expression on his face, even as he sat there after Dark Forest had brought him to his final resting place. Runn realized this and a sad look came upon his face; he had grown to like the older otter, despite his fearsome appearance.

            Stormpaw shook her head at him. "An' wot'll miz Tigerlily an' 'er brood say?"

            "'I never got t'wash his tattoos off!'" Painttail called from where he stood with other hares, burying Nik's body, in a high female voice, imitating the fretful otterwife.

            Stormpaw blinked. "Really? Huh, I won't want t'be like 'er when I grow up like that."

            "Yer less than a season from bein' an adult, Storm. When's yore birthday, anyway?"

            "I really dunno. I can't seem t'remember. I think it's…" There was a silence as she thought. "…T'day!"

            Lurrana looked up from freeing the old squirrel from the manacles. "T'day? Bad day t'fight then, young un! Huh, if'n we'd known…"

            Shaking her head again, Stormpaw replied, "No, 'tis all right. We did wot we 'ad t'do an' I'm glad we did. If'n we'd waited then Sarrico an' 'is Flitchaye friends could've taken Mossflower beneath our very noses."

            "Well, happy birthday, Storm," Kipp told his otter friend. "We need t'celebrate at Redwall. C'mon, everybeast, let's go!"

            Without furthur ado, everybeast headed north. Lord Russano and his Long Patrol hares, with the exception of the original group that had been sent to help Nik and his friends, headed back to Salamandastron. The slaves followed eagerly, excited about the Abbey and excited about their freedom. Painttail and his father, Lieutenant Tammello De Fformello Tussock, got everybeast in battle ranks. With Kipp and Verleaf in the lead, everybeast headed home.


	12. Epilogue

Epilogue

The extracts from the recordings of Marrik Bankvole, Recorder and Gatehouse Keeper of Redwall Abbey.

_Ah! What a day! If only I wasn't Recorder. Then I could go out and have fun with all my friends…though what good is that when you're not a babe anymore?_

_            It's been five seasons since Rugval Sarrico the Renegade came to Mossflower woods. It was a terrifying ordeal to be stuck at a campsite, listening to the sounds of war as my older friends fought against the slavers, the Flitcheye, the foxes, and against Sarrico himself. I'm glad it's all over._

_            Stormpaw came to live at Redwall, much to everyone's surprise. Everyone was glad to have her stay permanently, especially Runn. So that brings me to another topic that Mrs. Rimrose Swifteye could never write due to her lack of doing her duties (she had been a very old squirrel)—Runn and Stormpaw got married when we returned to Redwall and had twins. They're named Iceblade and Ralar, after the two who died fighting. It's sad, dying. But that's what happens. Nobeast can stop it._

_            But things are happy here at Redwall. I have become Recorder, as you can see. Verleaf has become Abbot. He's a wise Abbot and a very good cook, too. Kippit…poor Kipp. Ever since his brother died, he's changed. He was the one who led our little force back to Redwall, little as he was. Waving the sword of Martin the Warrior high in the air, he kept everybeast going. So I guess you can tell he's the Redwall Champion and acts just like his brother had only five seasons before._

_            Pinidap has been reunited with his father. Lieutenant Tammello, Painttail, Sister Rayna, Earlop, Lin, Pawpike, and Filian had a glorious family reunion. Now the new cook, Friar Tibbin, has his paws full with a whole hare family._

_            The south wall has been fixed, and due to its seemingly constant toppling, we had it reinforced with some "secret" mole equipment. Foremole says that it won't topple—or even threaten to topple—anymore._

_            We are all growing old. The elders die, the adults grow old, and the young ones grow big and strong. Even I feel old, even though I'm still somewhat of an adult. I keep getting a pain in my right footpaw whenever a storm's about to come upon us. Kipp jokes and says that's proof I'm old. He's always the joker, though, even if he's the responsible squirrel that brought us home five seasons ago._

_            Where was I? Oh yes, growing old. But I cannot afford to ramble, for it is Abbot Verleaf's Jubilee feast today. I hope Father Abbot cooks one of his specialties. Stormpaw would help him. Hah, then there'd be hotroot soup loaded with enough hotroot pepper to set your mouth on fire. Only otters can handle that stuff. I'm perfectly fine with a summer salad._

_            We've gotten a new Badger Mother too. Mother Rose; that's her name. Yes, it's the same old little Rose that Rugval had kidnapped, along with the rest of us._

_            Flint and Vulpes, who were the only good foxes, it seemed, had befriended us and now live inside the Abbey. They have a son, Shadow, and two daughters, Mist and Aura. It's quite nice to have two non-vermin foxes amongst us. It's a change, yes, and a very good one. Flint and Vulpes know vermin like the back of their paws, and they are very knowledgable._

_            Rukka now lives with the other sparrows in Warbeak's Loft. He's a conspicuous one in there, yes, but he doesn't mind. He still goes out and delivers messages when we need it._

            Oh no. My right footpaw is hurting now. A storm will come, I just know it.

            Recorder Marrik yelped in pain as he looked down at his footpaw. It was only a splinter. Tugging on the splinter to pull it out, he continued writing.

_            Never mind about the storm and the pain in my footpaw. It's only a splinter, but it hurts like crazy. Ah well. That's what I get for rubbing my paw against the wooden floor like that._

_            Oh dear, I can hear Sister Anna calling me. She says I need to get my furry backside off this chair and hurry outside before I starve anyone at the feast. I guess I lost track of time. It must be noon already. I must go now._

_                                                                                    Marrik Bankvole (Recorder and_

_                                                                                                Gatehouse Keeper of Redwall_

_                                                                                                            Abbey in Mossflower)_


End file.
